


Hermione Mendonica And the Ouroboros + 7th Summer

by HornedSerpentNine



Series: Veela's Omen Chronicles [8]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Multi, shit happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 82,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22904092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HornedSerpentNine/pseuds/HornedSerpentNine
Summary: Seventh Year at Hogwarts and other places; let the destruction of the Horcruxes and the hunt fo the Hallows begin!
Relationships: Bellatrix Lestrange/OC Vicencta Mendonica, Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley/OC Leilaki Clearwind of Greyback, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Daphne Greengrass, Hermione Granger/Harem, Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger/OC Tarow Greyback, OC Amélie Mendonica/Daphne Greengrass
Series: Veela's Omen Chronicles [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1461463
Comments: 73
Kudos: 160





	1. Down The Niffler Hole

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any Harry Potter, nor do I own any lore I found in the Wiki pages/Pottermore.  
> My wonderful Beta is Rencae!  
> Also, I use Google Translate  
> Also-Also, all comments and questions are welcome! I always reply!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a meaningful conversation with Fleur, and Luna pseudo-crashes the wedding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall, I didn't get to post this chapter on time because I was working on this!: 
> 
> https://drive.google.com/file/d/14pZIq11C_E-KosVuVetLe8Hiu8uW6Blt/view?usp=drivesdk
> 
> It's a portrait of Hermione Mendonica that I've been working on.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone stares at Hermione holding Meissa.

“Bloody hell, when did that happen?” Ginny asks, and Daphne rolls her eyes.

“Very tactful—now let’s just head back to the wedding,” the Beta snaps, and she links her arm in Hermione’s. Meissa blinks at Daphne, her eyes lingering on the Beta’s white-blond hair. The group slowly begins to make their way back to the marquee—Tarow takes a minute to put Molly in the Burrow—and the Werewolves speed up to look at Meissa.

Hermione’s daughter looks up at them, and she leans toward them, taking tiny sniffs in their direction. Tarow grins at the action, and she blows a puff of air on Meissa’s head.

“I like your pup’s eyes; they will certainly scare her enemies into submission,” the Alfā Werewolf declares, and Leilaki nods.

“She’s a very beautiful pup,” the Omega Werewolf adds, and she looks down at Ginny with a wishful expression.

“Speaking of pups, we need to talk about our packs,” Tarow murmurs into Hermione’s ear, and before Hermione can respond, the Alfā Werewolf herds the others off to their own seats—even pulling Daphne off Hermione’s arm. Hermione just goes with the flow, and she makes her way back to her seat, sitting down just as soft instrumental music cues up and the talking silences.

Hermione glances at the violinist, and she’s mildly surprised to see Katie’s the one playing the very traditional Veela bonding piece. Although the Veela Alpha’s music is soothing and calm, her disappointed expression clearly states her feelings on the wedding. However, Bill, who’s the closest to her, is oblivious to her feelings, as he’s smiling widely.

Suddenly, there’s the sound of people turning around in their seats, and Hermione turns as well. Arthur and Molly appear, the latter still looking frazzled but she puts on a decent mask to cover it.

The couple walk down the aisle, smiling and waving, and they take their honored seats in the front row. Not a minute later, Charlie and one of Bill’s coworkers walk down the aisle in fancy dress robes, and they take their place on Bill’s right. Another minute later, and Kate strides down the aisle, a bouquet of white flowers in her hands, and she takes her place next to her cousin.

Ron walks stiffly under the weight of all the guests’ stares, and the pillow carrying the two rings shake as he awkwardly takes his place next to his brother. Finally, Gabrielle appears, tossing handfuls of red and white petals before her as she walks. She stands with Kate, who gives her fellow Veela Omega a small fist bump.

In the corner of the marquee, she sees Err’sh half-hidden in a large plant, and Tyche coiled around the chains of chandeliers, over looking everyone. Then, the music strengthens, and Hermione sees Fleur.

The Veela Alpha is a picture of elegant beauty; a simple, flowing, white, shoulderless dress that ripples with every step, and the lace near the top accents her swan-like swoop of her clavicles.

Sparkly, light-purple eyeshadow dust Fleur’s eyelids, giving her an ethereal snow goddess look. Her silver-blond hair is piled high atop her head in a braided bun, diamond strings lining every lock of hair, and Hermione realizes she recognizes that hairstyle. The whole marital image pierces a dagger straight through Hermione’s heart, and heartache burns strong in her.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Meissa breaks her stare from Fleur to look at her mother, and she cocks her head. Those heterochromia iridum eyes flick between her mother and the Veela bride, and she carefully places a hand on her mother’s. Hermione glances down, smiling weakly at Meissa, and her daughter stares wide-eyed at her.

‡ _Ssshe family?_ ‡ Her daughter hisses ever so softly, and Hermione sighs.

‡ _Yesss . . . Ssshe’sss family of the heart,_ ‡ Hermione hisses back, and Meissa scrunches up her nose in confusion.

‡ _Aunt?_ ‡

‡ _No,_ ‡ Hermione hisses, watching as Fleur’s mother escorts Fleur down the aisle, and Hermione sees her father silently crying tears of joy.

‡ _Nieccce? Cousssin? Sssisster?_ ‡

‡ _No, no, and no. You sssee Petite Corbeau [Little Raven], Fleur isss . . ._ ‡ Hermione trails off as Fleur passes by her without a glance in her direction. Meissa pokes Hermione impatiently.

‡ _Isss what?_ ‡ She demands, but Hermione’s attention is diverted when Draco leans over to her.

“Dddidddn’ttt you have ttthe same hairstttyle for ttthe Yule Ball?” He whispers, and Hermione nods. Fleur and her mother part ways, and the Veela Alpha takes her place across from Bill, both grinning shyly at each other. The sight burns a twisted feeling in Hermione’s chest as she forces herself to watch the bonding ceremony.

As soon as Fleur and Bill kiss chastely on the lips, chimes, balloons, and exotic birds are released by the Weasley twins. As soon as the guests start to get up to go to the party tent, Hermione’s out of her seat and striding away from the marquee to distance herself from the wedding.

Meissa looks up at her curiously, but her daughter doesn’t say anything as she merely opts to place her hand on Hermione’s. Walking up a small hill with a large tree, she crests it, and takes a large breath.

‡ _Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss? [Brood-Queen-Mother?]_ ‡ Meissa hisses, and Hermione looks down at her daughter. The sky’s gradual transition into sunset colors make her baby’s skin turn a light gold color.

‡ _Yess?_ ‡

‡ _Isss Fleur other Mother?_ ‡

Hermione blinks at the question, and hurriedly shakes her head.

‡ _No, ssshe’sss not, Bellatrixxx isss your other Mother,_ ‡ she hisses, and Meissa sighs frustratedly.

‡ _How Fleur family of heart?_ ‡ Her daughter demands, staring up at Hermione expectantly. Hermione purses her lips, thinking about it. What is Fleur to her? Not lovers anymore, not with the marriage in the way . . . Friend is too simple a word to describe their relationship, and best friend seems a little pretentious.

‡ _We were loversss onccce . . . You would have been a little sssissster,_ ‡ Hermione hisses softly, and Meissa’s eyes get big.

‡ _Little sssissster? Where big sssissster?_ ‡ Her daughter asks innocently, bouncing in Hermione’s arms excitedly. Hermione can’t help the pang of sorrow that flashes across her face, and Meissa sees it. She stops bouncing, and she looks concerned for Hermione.

‡ _. . . No big sssissster?_ ‡ She hisses slowly, and before Hermione can answer, someone behind her speaks.

“Enjoying the sunset?”

Hermione’s shoulders stiffen a little, but she turns around to face Fleur in her full glory.

* * *

Hermione simply stares at the absolute vision before her, lit up in the golden hour rays; she’s a goddess. Fleur squints, and raises a hand over her face, subsequently allowing her to see Meissa.

“Oh,” is all Fleur says, and Hermione wills herself not to shift nervously.

“Oh my goodness, she’s so adorable!” Fleur coos, and she quickly closes the distance between them to smile at Meissa.

“May I hold her?” The Veela Alpha asks, and a little stunned, Hermione does. Meissa gasps when Fleur holds her, and she reaches to touch the Veela Alpha’s hands to steady herself. Hermione wars between watching Fleur like a hawk to make sure she doesn’t drop her daughter and impinging Fleur holding their daughter.

Hermione blinks when she realizes that Fleur is talking to her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Hermione says, and Fleur rolls her eyes playfully.

“I said, who are her parents? She’s such a darling, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight if she was mine,” Fleur says, and Hermione runs her fingers through her hair.

“She’s mine,” she murmurs, and Fleur tenses.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Fleur looks up.

“May I ask with whom?”

“Bellatrix Black.”

“I see.”

“Yeah,” Hermione says, and she looks away from Fleur’s intense,penetrating gaze.

“Is she here?”

“Uh, no.”

“Well. What’s your daughter’s name?” Fleur asks, and Hermione feels a little whiplashed by the stilted conversation they’re having.

“Meissa, Meissa Astra Bellatrix Black,” Hermione replies proudly, and her daughter smiles when she hears her name. Throughout the conversation, she’s been playing with Fleur’s hair, fascinated by it.

“Is it wrong of me to envy her?” Fleur whispers to herself, looking down at Meissa, and Hermione takes a cautious step forwards.

“Her?” She murmurs.

“ _Bellatrix,_ ” Fleur growls, and Hermione slowly cups Fleur’s face.

“Why do you envy her?” Hermione asks gently, and she rubs her thumbs along Fleur’s cheekbones. Meissa switches her gaze between Hermione and Fleur with a little smile on her face.

“I . . . I don’t know? I just feel so _angry_ at her for some reason,” Fleur looks up, confusion swimming in her cerulean-blue eyes, and Hermione has to force herself to not lose herself in them. With the sunset light casting shadows over Fleur’s face, it’s hard not to lean in closer, but a glance at her white dress smacks the reality in Hermione’s face, so she changes the subject.

“I seem to remember my hair looking like this during the Yule Ball,” Hermione drawls, tugging on a loose lock of hair, and Fleur blushes a little.

“It looked so beautiful on you, so I thought I might try it,” the Veela Alpha admits, and Hermione grins.

“You look jaw dropping gorgeous,” she murmurs, and Fleur smiles, and then she shifts Meissa to one arm so she can reach up to Hermione’s chest.

“Do you still have it?” Fleur asks softly, and Hermione has to take a few breaths tocalm her heart since the Veela Alpha’s hand is resting right between her breasts. Hermione reaches under her suit, pulls out her _Violet Eyes_ necklace, and Fleur’s fingers twitch at the sight of the necklace.

“You actually kept it,” Fleur murmurs, amazed, and Hermione chuckles under her breath.

“I keep everything you give me,” she says, and lays a hand on the back of the Veela Alpha’s neck, leaning them close so their foreheads can rest on each other’s.

“Really?” Fleur mumbles, looking up at Hermione through her eye lashes.

“Really,” Hermione replies, and a thought occurs to her.

“I don’t think I’ve given you your wedding present,” she says, and Fleur frowns slightly.

“That’s okay, you being here is the best present I could have.”

“Nonetheless, I still want to give you something,” Hermione replies, and she slowly lifts one of her necklaces over her head, and then over Fleur’s. The _Madisntic’s Necklace_ looks out of place against the Veela Alpha’s wedding dress, as it rests right in her cleavage, and Fleur gasps when she holds up the dog tag to the waning light.

“Hermione, I can’t, this is—” the Veela Alpha splutters, but Hermione places a finger against Fleur’s lips, instantly quieting her.

“I can, and I want to. Besides, now you have a piece of me, and I have a piece of you,” Hermione says with a sad smile, and Fleur looks like she’s on the verge of crying.

“I don’t know why I’m like this—why do I feel so _devastated_ yet so terribly _happy?_ ” Fleur sniffs, and silent tears start to run down her cheeks. Meissa blinks at the Veela Alpha, a little startled to see a grown woman crying. Hermione doesn’t say anything, but she wraps Fleur in her arms gently, carefully minding that her daughter is still held in Fleur’s arms between them.

The Veela Alpha rests her head against Hermione’s chest, and she can feel the tears dampen her suit, so she holds Fleur tighter.

»I’m so sorry ma Loutre [my Otter], I can’t save you right now, but I swear it, I shall do what Mini required, and then I’ll free you,« Hermione says in Velian, knowing that Fleur in her current state can’t hear her. The sun finally sets, casting them in wide swaths of darkness. As Hermione starts to pull away, Fleur grips her sleeve with her free arm, mumbling something so soft that Hermione almost doesn’t think she heard it.

“Don’t leave me here alone.”

Hermione and Meissa lock eyes, and her daughter places her hand on Fleur’s cheek, her eyes glowing a little. Instantly, Fleur gasps sharply, and she snaps her head up at Hermione, startling her. Hermione stares at the familiar, fierce look in the Veela Alpha’s eyes, and Fleur grabs Hermione’s tie, sending a thrill through her.

“Hermione, I l—”

“Honey?! Is that you?!”

Hermione and Fleur look down the hill to see Bill awkwardly fumbling in the dark towards them. Meissa drops her hand, the glow in her eyes stop, and Fleur shivers a little. Carefully, she hands Hermione’s daughter back to her, and disappointment soars in Hermione when she sees the off look back in Fleur’s eyes.

“Yes Bill! Hermione and I lost track of time talking about her daughter!” Fleur says cheerfully, and she makes her way down to her husband.

“Really? Anyway, it’s time for the father-daughter dance,” Bill says happily, and Fleur giggles at him. So wrapped up in themselves, the couple walk arm in arm to the party tent, leaving Hermione and Meissa alone.

‡ _Fleur wrong,_ ‡ her daughter hisses, and Hermione growls under her breath.

“I know.”

* * *

Hermione lets Daphne hold Meissa during Fleur’s dance with her father. Watching the Veela Alpha, Hermione feels a pang of loss, and soon, it’s time for the mother-son dance. She idly follows Fleur with her gaze, watching her speak with her parents a little off the dance floor, and the memory of Mini’s request bubbles up in her mind.

* * *

_‡_ Mini, _‡ Hermione interrupts the Locket before she delves into another lecture._

 _‡_ Yesss? _‡_

 _‡_ Doesss a magical cure-all exxxissst? _‡_

_Mini thinks for a long moment, and then she sighs._

_‡_ Yesss . . . There isss . . . _‡_

_Hermione sits up at once, staring down at the Locket intently._

_‡_ And? What is it? _‡ She hisses, and Mini frowns._

 _‡_ If I tell you, you mussst ssswear to accomplish something for me in return, _‡ Mini hisses, and Hermione raises an eyebrow._

 _‡_ What would that be? _‡_

_Mini growls to herself, and crosses her arms._

_‡_ I literally _can’t_ disclose the “cure-all’s” identity without collateral to ensure its complete, and utter safety! _‡_

_Now Hermione’s wary and intrigued, and she wars with herself about accepting Mini’s unknown, dire request or throwing caution to the wind to help Fleur._

_‡_ I ssswear to asssssissst you to the bessst of my ability, _‡ Hermione hisses, and Mini sighs._

 _‡_ I sssuppossse that’sss good enough . . . _‡ the Locket trails off before staring at Hermione._

 _‡_ Alfā Hermione Eto Mendonica, I want you to dessstroy the ressst of Ouroborosss’ Horcruxxxesss. _‡_

_Hermione’s jaw drops._

_‡_ That’sss what you me to do? He could have hidden them anywhere in the world! _‡_

_Mini snorts, and waves her hand dismissively._

_‡_ Oh pleassse, he’sss only got three left, ssseeing asss your ssseer already dessstroyed the one I _told_ you to get rid of, _‡ Mini snarks, and Hermione takes a steadying breath._

 _‡_ I asssssume you know where all three are located? _‡ She hisses, and Mini scratches her head._

 _‡_ Well, I know where they _originally_ were hidden, _‡ Mini amends, and Hermione rubs her eyes._

 _‡_ That’sss a ssstart,‡ she grumbles. ‡Now, tell me about the cure-all, _‡ Hermione orders, and now Mini looks apprehensive._

 _‡_ To control Magic itself, one mussst control Death, and in order to accomplisssh that, you must asssssemble the Deathly Hallowsss to become the sssupreme Massster of Death, _‡ Mini hisses softly, her words bringing forth an ominous tension in the Grimmauld Place. Hermione feels a phantom touch trail down her spine, and she shivers._

 _‡_ What are thessse Deathly Hallowsss? _‡_

 _‡_ There are many versssionsss of what Wizarding people think the Hallowsss look like, but in reality, the Hallowsss merely conformed to the ssshape that the original three ownersss could comprehend, _‡ Mini explains, and Hermione leans back so she’s lying on the floor again._

 _‡_ Who were the ownersss? Who created the Hallowsss? _‡ Hermione asks, and Mini laughs._

 _‡_ The three Peverell brothers of course; they sought to cheat Death himself, but Death always wins, so He made the Hallows from Himself as “gifts” to kill them, _‡ Mini pauses, and then looks in the direction where Hermione’s room is._

 _‡_ Dumbledore possessed a Hallow; it is the pinky finger of Death’s left hand; and now, you have it . . . _‡_

* * *

“You really don’t want to be here, do you?”

Hermione blinks out of her reverie, and looks down at Daphne.

“Not really,” she says, and she looks over the festive wedding. Most guests are dancing to their heart’s content, and some are simply mingling with other guests. In the corner of the dance floor, Hermione sees Ginny dancing wildly with Leilaki. Surprisingly, she spots Narcissa standing with a cup of wine amiably next to a nervously twitching Astoria.

“Do you want to leave then?” Daphne asks, and Hermione opens her mouth, but Tarow suddenly appears by her side.

#We need to talk about our packs,# the Alfā Werewolf woofs gruffly, and Hermione nods.

“Can you watch Meissa for me?” Hermione asks, and Daphne stands taller.

“Of course.”

Hermione gives her a once over, then follows Tarow to a more secluded spot of the tent.

#What did you want to talk about?# Hermione barks, and Tarow looks over at Ginny.

#She’s part of your pack, yes?#

#Yes,# Hermione answers, a little confused at where the Alfā Werewolf is directing the conversation.

#As her Alfā, will you let Ginny become part of my pack?# Tarow asks, and now Hermione understands.

#I don’t see why not, as long as she’s treated with the respect she’s due,# she replies, and Tarow grins.

#That’s good. Truthfully, I didn’t want to fight you over this matter—#

Suddenly a white Patronus crashes through the top of the tent, and the wedding comes to a halt as everyone stares at the silver Hare.

“The Prophecy prevails; the Half of Death has crossed; the Ouroboros flies free,” Luna’s dreamy voice says, and then the Gamma’s Patronus looks directly at Meissa.

“All hail, the Raven King,” the Patronus says dreamily, and it bows its head as it dissolves.

* * *

_Hermione’s slithering lazily on stone, and a pair of shiny, black boots walk next to her. There isn’t anyone around them, and Hermione realizes she can’t even detect the sound of torches. However, the snake doesn’t need any light to see, and neither does the snake’s companion. They stop when a door comes into view, and the snake looks farther down the hall. She wants to go down further, away from the person next to her._

_‡_ Not again, Nagini, _‡ Ouroboros hisses, annoyed. Hermione feels hiss rumble deep in her throat, and Nagini twitches._

 _‡_ If you’re not going to behave, you’ll have to wait outside, _‡ Ouroboros continues, opening the door. The giant snake hangs her head, and follows him._

 _‡_ I thought ssso. _‡ He hisses smugly, and Hermione feels a sliver of anger slice through Nagini’s mind towards the dark Alpha. Diving into the serpent’s thoughts, Hermione thinks she sees the beginningof a Familiar bond, but one that was either half-assed or was never sealed properly._

_However, there’s something else too, something not quite right, and when Hermione swims closer to the tangled threads of magic, she’s out of Nagini’s innermost thoughts abruptly when a rough prod of foreign mental presence spears into the snake’s mind. Nagini hisses reproachfully, and slithers away from Ouroboros._

_‡_ I know Nagini, I do apologizzze, but sssinccce you’re not talking to me, how elssse am I sssupposed to know what you’re feeling? _‡ Ouroboros hisses. Hermione rolls her eyes at the poor excuse of an apology, and she wonders how a snake like Nagini is tied to Ouroboros. Nagini likewise doesn’t seem to appreciate it either, for she doesn’t spare Ouroboros a glance._

_Ouroboros grunts, and then suddenly light starts to seep down into the room they’re in, illuminating the black walls. Nagini hisses softly, squinting up at the light, and Hermione gasps. Suspended in the air above them are seven, giant, glowing crystals. Six slowly revolve around the room in an hexagonal shape as the seventh circling in place in the middle, but that’s not the thing that made Hermione gasp._

_It’s the fact that four of the crystals have bodies imbedded in them. One holds the late Alpha James Potter, still wearing a St. Mungo’s hospital gown and bearing a still bloody stab wound right above his heart. Another holds her Great-Grandfather, still wearing his prison garb and a peaceful smile as rivulets of blood drip from his slit neck._

_In another, Alpha Albus Dumbledore’s fried corpse remains unchanged, except for the the thinnest of cuts secreting blood from his gut. Finally, upon seeing the body in the middle, seventh crystal, Hermione lets out a silent croak of horror. Nagini curls around herself, and fixes her gaze on crystals. Ouroboros starts chanting under his breath, and he places his hands in the middle of an ancient runic circle burnt into the ground._

_Hermione struggles to tear her gaze away from the body, and to the hundreds of thousands of more runic circles lighting up with magical power. Nagini flicks her tongue nervously, feeling the air shimmer with the densely charged, Olde Magick. Suddenly, the crystals holding the corpses start glowing brilliantly, and Nagini has to look away from the blinding light._

_Ouroboros’ chanting gets louder, and Hermine can distinctly hear the muffled sounds of flesh tearing and blood spurting against crystal. Suddenly, Ouroboros roars, and Nagini convulses in terror as the corpse of Alfā Etoilnaiphas Mendonica screams._


	2. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeling from her vision, Hermione scrambles home to find the Mendonica Palace isn't the same as she remembered . . .

Hermione lurches awake, an enraged snarl tipping though her jaws as she leaps to her paws. Instantly, the pack around her awakes, all growling and barking, automatically searching for the threat. Tarow springs up next to her, her lips peeled back as she scans the woods around them.

Meissa lets out a startled cry, and Hermione ceases her snarl at once, dropping down onto all fours to whine and huff soothingly to her daughter. Her baby just looks up at her with a scared and confused expression, and Hermione morphs from her Werewolf form back to her normal one.

“It’s okay Mei, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Hermione coos, holding her daughter close to her chest.

#Where’s the threat?# Tarow demands, and her words bring back the memories of Hermione vision. She growls, holding Meissa tighter.

“Ouroboros—I need to make sure my family’s safe—” Hermione stands, but Tarow steps in front of her.

#Woah, hold up, how do you know this?# The Alfā Werewolf demands, and Hermione takes a deep breath to calm herself.

“I saw it,” she says, and Tarow narrows her eyes.

#Not good enough, now—#

#Aro! Is everything alright?!#

Tarow, Hermione, and Meissa look to the side, spotting Leilaki loping towards them from the Burrow with Ginny on her back.

“Hermione! What’s going on?” The Alpha asks, sliding off Leilaki as the Omega Werewolf slows down and starts a rapid-fire questionnaire with Tarow.

‡ _Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother], I want home,_ ‡ Meissa hisses shakily, and Hermione strokes her daughter’s head soothingly.

“Hermione?” Ginny says, and she starts walking towards Hermione.

‡ _Alright Miesssssa, let’sss go home,_ ‡ Hermione hisses softly, but Tarow and Leilaki whip their heads towards her.

#No! Wait! It could be a—# Tarow roars, surging forwards, but Hermione’s already twisting and Side-Apparating away.

* * *

Hermione appears in a room filled with floating ash, and immediately her eyes water and she coughs out the ash that went in her nose and mouth. At the same time, she conjures a handkerchief and presses it over Meissa’s face so her daughter won’t breathe in the ash.

Their presence sends little eddies of wind through the still, silent room, and it takes Hermione a solid minute to recognize Abby’s old room. Slowly, she waves her hand, magically funneling all the ash into a densely packed orb, and then hardens it. The ash-orb drops to the ground, making a loud thud sound when it hits the floor.

‡ _Not home!_ ‡ Meissa whines, and Hermione looks down at her daughter.

‡ _I know, we’ll be there in a bit, but Maman had to make a ssstop here,_ ‡ Hermione hisses, and she looks around the neglected—but otherwise undisturbed room. A frown settles on her face as she looks at all the dust coating every available surface, and instantly she knows that something’s wrong with the House-Elves.

She reaches out with her magic to the Mendonica Palace’s—and stumbles backwards when she unexpectedly brushes up against the biting, conscious cold of the Crypts. In a split second, she recoils her magic tightly in a protective sphere around herself and her daughter, but she senses the Crypts turning it’s hungry gaze on them.

* * *

Hermione takes a deep breath, and tenses as the Crypts’ magic pours into Abby’s room, swirling around them wildly, testing the strength of Hermione’s barrier.

‡ _NO! Leave alone Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss! [Brood-Queen-Mother!]_ ‡ Meissa hisses, her eyes light up with her magic, and the Crypt latches its focus on her, coiling around them dangerously.

‡ _Mei, not now,_ ‡ Hermione hisses curtly, wrapping her Thrall around her daughter, and therefore blanketing her magical aura. Meissa growls, but she can’t overpower Hermione.

»You are not permitted in these halls,« Hermione growls in French, and the Crypts’ magic makes a ringing sound like mocking laughter. It doesn’t speak, it can’t but Hermione can understand its intentions that it sends out, and right now, it doesn’t feel like obeying her.

Then, almost as if nudged in front of her, Hermione remembers something.

»So be it,« Hermione growls. She closes her eyes, and inhales deep and long, lighting Cursed Fire inside her belly. Her body starts to semi-morph by itself into her Ancient Chimoretis form, and she senses the Crypts pause itself to watch her.

Meissa shivers in Hermione’s arms, and she feels her daughter’s magic dig into her own. She flinches a little at the inexperienced intrusion, but she uses her Thrall to sooth the transition, and the flames in her gut swell. Tuning into the magic around her, the writhing, wraithlike, magical form of the Crypts appears behind her eyes, and it jerks away from her glare.

»Burn,« she snarls, and looses a torrent of pure white fire from her mouth.

* * *

The Crypts’ scream is like glass grinding on glass, and Hermione smirks. She’s learned from her experience with this sort of fire back in her Second year, so while the molten hot, white flames battling the Crypts’ magic, it doesn’t hurt her.

Her Cursed Fire magic spews forth from her in magnitudes she’s never even believed she could produce, and Hermione knows that Meissa is the reason for that. The Crypts lets out a final wail, and it retreats from Hermione’s relentless attack. Hermione keeps her white fire pouring after the Crypts’s magic, chasing it through the Palace and down through the Traitor’s Well.

Hermione focuses on her magic, and even though her physical body is on the sixth floor, she forces the Mendonica Palace to fill in the hole of the Well. She seals it over with her white flames, and then, curling her Thrall around her own magic, Hermione cuts off the flow of her Cursed Fire.

Hermione gasps for breath when the white flames dissipate, and smoke billows out of her mouth and nostrils. Taking a couple of breaths to clear all the smoke from her lungs, she unravels her shield, and Hermione finally looks down at her daughter.

Meissa stares up at her with impossibly large eyes, a look of pure awe and adoration shining in those heterochromia iridum orbs. Hermione smiles down at her, and she lifts her Thrall from her daughter, making Meissa sneeze.

‡ _Awesssome,_ ‡ she hisses, and Hermione smirks a little.

‡ _Let’sss sssee if the Houssse-Elvesss are here—Cobra!_ ‡ Hermione hisses, and she waits for a second. When the Elf doesn’t appear, Hermione sighs, and she walks out of Abby’s room, entering an ash filled hall.

* * *

There’s an melancholy type of silence that fills the walls of Mendonica Palace, and Hermione’s head stays on a constant swivel to take in everything. Every wall is cracked like spiderwebs, and the plaster is either entirely missing in chunks or peeling off the walls. The portraits are all askew, and all the furniture is in a state of disarray and displacement.

Every surface has a layer of ash and dust, and Hermione can’t help but remember the fond memories she has with the Palace. Meissa doesn’t say a word, but she looks at everything with wide eyes. Hermione makes her way to the Library, and suddenly stops short when she sees the ash line complete stop.

Carefully, she steps over the line, and instantly, she’s brought to her knees by the overenthusiastic conscious of the Mendonica Palace.

‡ _Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss! [Brood-Queen-Mother!]_ ‡ Meissa cries out in alarm, but Hermione just lets out a laugh as the Palace’s magic sweeps her in its grasp, pulling her and Meissa into the center of the Library.

‡ _It’sss alright Mei, it’sss a friend,_ ‡ Hermione hisses, and the Mendonica Palace turns its gaze on her daughter. It warms around them, and Mei squeaks when the Palace tickles her face.

»What happened here?« Hermione asks, and the Palace’s exuberant joy dims. It slowly lowers Hermione and Meissa onto a chair below, and Hermione looks around at the pristine heart of the Mendonica Palace. The magical conscious circles above Hermione’s head, letting out a mournful, chiming sound.

Suddenly, there’s a weak popping sound, and Hermione gasps when Cobra’s body appears before her. He’s all skin and bones, his bulbous eyes sunken into his skull, his left ear entirely missing, and his skin is covered in severe burns. The Palace holds him up on the tea table, and Hermione quickly—but gently—sets Meissa on the chair and she rushes towards her bonded Elf.

Cobra! She squeaks in horror, and he blinks lethargically, his eyes not quite focusing on her. Her Thrall surges out, and she lathers it all over the House-Elf, and he a sigh like a dry rattle escapes from his mouth.

What happened to you? Where are the other Elves? Hermione squeaks, and his eyes start to water up as he starts becoming more aware of his surroundings. Cobra struggles to say a word, but his throat can’t handle it. Instead, he flops his head to the side, dislodging a single tear from his eye. As it slides down his face, the Palace manifests a small glass vial, and Hermione grabs it, bottling the tear.

O-O-Ou— Cobra stutters weakly, and Hermione soothes his throat with her Thrall.

‡ _I help?_ ‡ Meissa hisses from behind her, but Hermione shakes her head.

‡ _No thank you, Maman’sss got thisss,_ ‡ she hisses, and she uses her Thrall to make Cobra fall asleep. Laying him gently on the tea table, Hermione manifests thick blankets to swaddle the House-Elf.

»Where are the other Elves?« Hermione asks the Mendonica Palace quietly, and it shows her the images of their slow deaths from their grievous injuries in her mind. There’s a popping sound next to her, and Hermione looks over to see a large pensieve.

‡ _What that?_ ‡ Meissa hisses.

‡ _A pensssieve . . . Could you keep her entertained while I’m in?_ ‡ Hermione hisses the last part of her sentence to the Palace, and it swirls around Meissa, showing her images of something. Hermione takes a breath, tips the vial of Cobra’s tear into the pensieve, and then dips her head into it.

* * *

There’s a rush of memories at first; Cobra’s birth, his childhood being unbonded; therefore kept away from the Mistresses of the Palace; Cobra as a young adult occasionally spotting a young redheaded girl, and then fast forward until Souci, Juin, and John’s births.

Hermione watches as Cobra learns from the Head Elf how to properly care for the Veela girls, and how Cobra secretly visited John. The memories slow down a tad during the time Cobra spent with the male Veela, and Hermione feels the House-Elf’s sympathy for the boy. The years go by, and the next memory is of John, but much older, probably eighteen or nineteen.

This John is drastically different from his youthful version; his eyes are completely black with lust, and he stalks through the halls, his form shifting unnervingly as if his True-Veela form is trying to burst through his skin but can’t. Instinctively, Hermione knows that John’s a threat that must be taken down, and Cobra had sensed it too.

The young Elf had stepped forwards, ready to stop the out of control male Veela, when a voice calls to the House-Elf. Hermione and Cobra both turn around to see a younger Juin, her face flushed red with panic, and she utters the three most damning words Hermione’s ever heard her say.

»Let him leave.«

The memories surge faster, the images flying by so fast that Hermione can’t quite make out their contents. She can only glimpse a shape of wings, a splatter of blood, andhear a sobbing wail before the memories grind to a complete standstill. The Cobra in this memory looks very similar to the present day one, and Hermione recognizes the scene before her instantly.

There she is; the seven year old version of Hermione; standing in her room as she stares at Cobra.

“ **What are those?!** ” Past Hermione cries out, her fear and distrust shining plainly in her eyes. Hermione watches the exact scene play out as she remembers, right up until Past Hermione says:

“ **I accept, but I’m calling you Cobra.** ”

»What about you, Présage? [Omen?]« Eto asks, and Past Hermione’s eyes roll back into her skull and her body slumps to the floor. Cobra freezes at the sight, but Un merely gives the other House-Elf a stern look.

»I shall not ask again,« Eto drawls, bored, and suddenly, Past Hermione’s body contorts, her little body elongating as her True-Veela form emerges. Hermione stares at the sight, her jaw dropped in shock as the little True-Veela stretches.

»It’s a boring name; I’m going to call him Eelstrike,« Présage yawns, and Eto smiles down at Présage.

»That’s a good name.«

Hermione snaps her eyes up to Eto, staring at the look of pure, unconditional love on her mother’s face, and something inside her cracks. She never looked at her like that.

»Anyway, I followed exactly as you told me to, down to the letter—which was a little challenging—but did you see it?« Présage says excitedly, and Eto crouches down while opening her arms. Présage flings herself at Eto, and the pair hug each other.

»I did, and you did a beautiful job. You’re quite the artist,« Eto replies warmly, and she pulls back to look at the little True-Veela.

»It’s good to have you home, ma Petite Présage, [my Little Omen],« Eto says with an easy smile, and Présage smiles back.

»You’re my home, Maman.«

The memory blurs then, speeding through Cobra’s strict lessons by Un of how to properly interact with Hermione. Basically, he was trained never to show any signs that Présage even existed unless she herself was consciously present. Hermione reels back, trying to detangle herself from Cobra’s—Eelstrike’s?—memories, but they hold her fast.

The next memory is when Hermione first meets Souci and Juin, and once more, Présage makes an appearance.

“ **Who is your human?** ” Past Juin demanded, and instantly Past Hermione is pushed inwards as Présage’s consciousness takes over. Past Cobra gulps, terror evident on his face.

»I’m no one’s ‘human’,« Présage sneers, stalking into the dark, stone room. Souci and Juin both narrow their eyes at Présage, and Souci turns to Eto.

»What did you do?«

Eto merely turns her eye to Présage, a smile growing on her face.

»These are your older sisters I told you about, Souci and Juin,« Eto says, and the other two Veela stare at their mother in shock.

»Older sister?!« Juin exclaims, and Souci just stares at Présage intently.

»She doesn’t look like a Mendonica,« the older Veela Alpha says, and Présage scowls.

»So?!«

Eto merely waves her daughter off, and beckons Présage to come closer, which she does. The Veela Alfā wraps her arms loosely around Présage’s shoulders, and looks up at her two older daughters.

»Your sister is from a lower branch of the Mendonica House that I thought had died out, so I’m adopting her,« Eto says, and Souci tilts her head.

»Are you going to Blood-Claim her then?«

»Why would you do that for a lower branch?«

Souci and Juin demand, and Présage gasps excitedly.

»Really? I’ll be related to you directly?!«

Eto smiles lovingly down at Past Hermione, and Hermione feels a stab of betrayal and hurt at the look.

»Really.«

»Why now, Maman? Who are you hiding her from?« Souci asks, and Juin nods, folding her arms.

»Ma Petite Présage’s [My Little Omen’s] safety was compromised, so I had to bring her here,« Eto drawls, and she leads Présage to the Well. The next part happens exactly as Hermione remembers, and the memories quicken again. Here and there, Cobra’s memories show snapshots of Présage emerging randomly; after when Hermione first visited the Crypts, when Eto explained what Presentations were, after Eto gave her Madisntic’s Necklace, and many more times.

One of the most recent snapshots is True-Veela Présage standing in the Look Out with True-Veela Eto. Cobra huddles next to Présage’s calves as the wind buffets him, but the Veela don’t care.

»You’re going to meet her mother,« Eto says.

»Can I kill her?« Présage replies casually, and Eto hums, contemplating it.

»No . . . Not yet. Vyvian still has to accomplish her task,« Eto drawls, and Présage humphs.

»Paitence Présage, the Eternal Heart of Death is on your side,« Eto sighs in an exasperated tone, suggesting that this isn’t the first time she’s uttered those words. The Veela Alfā spreads her wings, and takes off into the skies, disappearing from view, and Cobra yelps in fright when Présage slams her fist into one of the pillars holding up the Look Out’s roof.

»Fate? There can only be one, _dearest_ , and it’s never going to be you,« Présage snarls. Cobra’s memories spiral up, and soon, Hermione finally sees the start of Cobra’s latest memory. He’s tidying up her room when the Mendonica Palace shudders.

The House-Elfdoesn’t have time to register the Palace’s magic summoning him to Eto, but he and the other Elves instinctively become aware of the looming threat heading towards them. Eto lounges in a chair of the Waiting Hall, cradling the Skull Hookah in her arms.

They don’t have to wait long, for a black cloaked figure enters through the doorway.

“You left your doorsss open,” Ouroboros hisses, stalking forwards predatorily. The Elves tense up, but Eto’s unconcerned.

“Zit down boy,” the Veela Alfā drawls, and Ouroboros growls.

“I think not,” he hisses, and he only stops a meter away from Eto’s chair, trying to intimidate her. Eto merely gives him a cold, bland look, and she starts stroking the Skull Hookah. Ouroboros shifts, and he waves his hand jerkily, summoning one of the chairs across the Hall for him.

He sits, and thus begins the waiting game, both Eto and Ouroboros staring each other down. Cobra keeps glancing back and forth between the two powerhouses as their magic starts to permeate into the air around them. Eto has the obvious advantage, and aided with the Mendonica Palace’s magic, she easily smothers Ouroboros’ dark well of magic.

Finally, Ouroboros breaks the silence.

“You bid me here,” he says, and Eto nods.

“That I did.”

“Why?” Ouroboros demands, and Eto looks down to the Skull Hookah, drawing Ouroboros’ attention to it.

“You and I zhared a common enemy.”

Ouroboros lowers the cowl of his cloak, and he appraises Eto calculatingly.

“Your agent killed Dumbledore,” he says slowly, and Eto nods.

“Yez, which bringz me to why I zummoned you here,” Eto says, and she rips the pipe out of the skull. The skull flares white, and its yellow smoke bursts out like a backed up pipe. Ouroboros leaps to his feet, his wand drawn and aimed at Eto’s heart, but the Veela Alfā merely flings the smoking skull behind her carelessly.

“What have you done?!” Ouroboros snarls, and Eto smirks at him. One of the Elves is touched by the smoke, and screams as severe burns blister his skin.

“You have two choizez,” Eto says, and she reaches up to her bone mask, sliding her nails under the rim of it. Ouroboros narrows his eyes, but he glances around the angry, yellow smoke exponentially filling the Hall.

“You can fight your way out, but I doubt you’ll be leaving alive or without permanent bodily damage, as the Skull of Death isn’t a very merciful God,” Eto says, and there’s the hissing of air escaping a seal. Ouroboros blanches, and he stumbles away from Eto fearfully.

“Or, you can swear on your magic to make me the Host for your ritual,” Eto finishes with a smirking voice, and Cobra looks up at her. What he sees shakes him to his very core. Gone is the illusion of the deep, badly scarred flesh, or perhaps it was there for a time, until Eto healed it and replaced it with something other.

There’s no flesh covering the right side of Eto’s face, nor is there any bone or muscle, no sinews or fat, there’s simply—but not simply for nothing like this can be labeled as “simply”—nothing. There is a void of light and life existing in pocket of impossibility, replacing the right side of the living, breathing, left side of the Veela Alfā.

Only a single, smoldering blue coal sizzles in the space where proportionally Eto’s other eye should be. All the Elves back away from the Veela Alfā, the instinct of flight warring with their bonds as her servants. The left side of Eto’s face smirks, and Ouroboros’ wand starts to shake.

“ _THeRe iS a reAsoN I Am cALled tHE HaLf Of DEatH,_ ” Eto drawls, and her voice resonates a power so immeasurable, that even through Cobra’s memories, it skitters across her skin. Ouroboros can’t seem to formulate words, and his wand is shaking so badly it threatens to fall from his hand.

“H-h-h-how?” He gasps, and Eto shrugs nonchalantly, as if her face isn’t a squatting place for a singularity.

“ _I mAde A pACt wItH DeATh, aNd noW I’m HOnoRiNg iT._ ”

The yellow smoke choses that moment to explode in size, making Ouroboros duck to avoid it’s swelling, brightening flames. The only thing brighter, is the tiny, aquamarine star burning in the abyss.

“Why?” Ouroboros stammers, and Eto rolls her normal eye. The yellow flames are getting out of control, and a face starts to take shape.

“ _A sOUl fOr a SoUl; mInE fOR heRs—nOw CHoOsE, bOY!_ ” Eto exclaims with a wicked grin. There’s a terrible screeching noise of something breaking, and suddenly the Crypts surges up, bashing against the Skull of Death’s yellow fire, and just before the room implodes, Cobra hears a male roar and the unearthly howl of something dying.


	3. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione deals with her emotions terrible and starts hunting!

Hermione gasps in huge lungfuls of air as she wrenches her head up from the pensieve. She hears Meissa’s laughter, and she looks over with wide, wild eyes to her daughter. Her baby is floating, wrapped up in the Mendonica’s Palace magic, a reel of memories of all the children that’s ever played in the Palace’s walls playing.

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, purposefully breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. She doesn’t know what she should be feeling; anger, betrayal, envy, sorrow, shock; it’s all just a high buzzing in her veins, like Hermione’s a string strung too tight that she’s afraid she’s going to snap.

She doesn’t want to delve deeper into the memories she just witnessed; the thought of another facet of her hiding away in the cracks of her mind; so Hermione thinks about the wedding instead.

* * *

After Luna’s Patronus came and delivered her message, the party was sort of derailed, as the guests were too uneasy to keep partying. Most said their farewells and booked it, trying to distance themselves from a potential battle scene.

All the I.W.O.R. Champions offered to help the Order patrol the grounds, but were gently turned down, so they left. No-House immediately started spitting gibberish, so Remus and Tonks had to drag his weak form back to the Burrow. Fleur’s family gathered around the Veela Alpha to say their goodbyes, and the Matriarch glanced at Hermione before they left.

There was something in that gaze that Hermione couldn’t decipher, but the ancient Veela was gone before she could even ponder what the gaze meant. Soon after the Delacour’s departure, Kate, Claire, and Kate all waved to Hermione as they left, and Abby and Charlie came over to her.

Hermione remembers that goodbye fondly; holding her Grand-nieces. The small twins look like mini, female versions of Charlie with Abby’s curly, strawberry-blond hair. The youngest twin is named Alpha Hekate Châtillion; an surprising decision to make, naming the little Veela after a Wizarding Goddess; and the eldest is named Alpha Hermione II Châtillion.

Hermione was so shocked and humbled, that she almost missed when Abby suddenly winced. Looking sharply up at her niece, Hermione saw the way that Charlie protectively wrapped his arms around Abby’s shoulders and how she held her stomach.

“Sorry Hermione, but we should go now,” Charlie had said, and he took back his daughters. As the Mated couple departed, Hermione smiled to herself when she realized that her niece was expecting again. The thought of daughters made her look back at Meissa, and a protective emotion flashed through Hermione when she saw Daphne feeding Meissa little bits of food.

A shadow of movement beyond Daphne and her daughter drew Hermione’s attention to blank faced Narcissa daintily sipping wine from a small flute. The Omega woman stared at Daphne and Meissa, and Hermione watched as veiled disapproval flash over her features as Astoria came bounding up and snatched Meissa from Daphne.

Hermione shifted, and Narcissa’s eyes snapped up to hers. They stared at each other, each cooly appraising each other. Hermione suspected that the Omega woman wanted her to act like the proper Head of Black House, raise Meissa the “conventional” way, and probably to not “stray” from Bella.

She wondered if Bella told her sister that what happened between Hermione and Bella was purely a matter of convenience. Bella was under no illusions that Hermione wanted to be tied down with marriage, and Hermione understood that she was only helping Bella through a desperate situation. Hermione had already named Meissa the Black House heir, so she had fulfilled Bella’s only request.

Narcissa broke her gaze from Hermione when Tarow appeared by her side, and Hermione wondered why the Alfā Werewolf kept circling back to the Omega woman. She watched as Narcissa looked off to the side of Tarow, never giving the impression she was looking at the Alfā Werewolf, but Tarow’s moving lips and Narcissa’s tense expression revealed that the Omega woman was listening.

The wedding was quickly winding down, and Hermione spotted Fleur and Bill making their way to the Burrow. Dragging her gaze away, Hermione located Andromeda, who was admonishing the completely disheveled looking Draco and Harry. The Alpha boys looked like they had wrestled with the Whomping Willow, as their robes were torn and dirt, leaves, and twigs clung to them.

Hermione closed her eyes, and sighed, letting her thoughts ramble. In order to fix Fleur, she has to become Master of Death, and in order to do that, she must assemble the Deathly Hallows, but to find those, she just has to destroy the three remaining Horcruxes of Ouroboros, where Mini doesn’t know the locations of.

She let out an exasperated breath, and Hermione decided to call it a night. Collecting Meissa from Daphne is easy, although convincing the Black family; by which Hermione just means Narcissa; to stay on the Burrow’s grounds is a little more difficult. Molly and some of the Order had set up tents for guests to stay for the night, but the sight of a frustrated Tarow made Hermione pause.

So on a whim she decided to sleep with the pack, and of course Meissa wanted to as well. After checking that Daphne and Astoria were settled in their tent; the Alpha proudly shifted into her Maledictus form in front of Hermione; Hermione walked to where the pack was making camp.

Once she was far enough past the tree line, Hermione morphed into her Werewolf form, and Meissa cooed appreciatively. The Werewolves were curious about her presence, but they didn’t challenge her when Hermione walked right up to a sulking Tarow in her Werewolf form.

#What’s gotten your tail in a twist?# Hermione barked, and the Alfā Werewolf lightly snarled a wordless warning to back off. Ignoring it, she sat down next to Tarow, setting Meissa in her lap.

#None of your business,# Tarow growled gruffly, and her ears flattened against her head.

‡ _Sssmellsss like Aunty Cccisssy,_ ‡ Meissa hissed, and Tarow huffed.

#Your pup has a good nose,# the Alfā Werewolf trailed off, and then looked over at Hermione.

#Why did the magic hare call her the Raven King?#

Hermione shrugged. She doesn’t try to ponder how Luna seems to know everything, although she does wonder if the Gamma was hinting at something in Meissa’s future.

#Who knows,# she replied, and that was that.

* * *

Hermione inhales deeply through her nose, and exhales through her mouth, forcibly calming her racing heart. The trip down memory lane helped settle her a little, but not much.

‡Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss? [Brood-Queen-Mother?]‡ Meissa hisses, and Hermione opens her eyes and turns around. Her daughter is pointing at the ceiling, and so Hermione looks up, and gasps. The Mendonica Palace’s magic is condensing into a tight ball above their heads, but that’s not the shocking part.

All around them, every single book in the Library lifts off from their shelves and flies up to the Palace’s magic to be absorbed by the Palace. It’s a little unclear at first, but as more books fly up, Hermione realizes the Palace is using the transfigured books as a thick, glassy, protective shield around it like a cocoon.

Once the last book is transformed, the palm-size, glowing, glassy orb slowly lowers itself down, and Hermione reaches up and plucks it from the air. As soon as the last of the Mendonica Palace’s magic seals itself away, Hermione instantly feels the lack of awareness around her, and she realizes the walls around her are just that—walls with no sentience to warm them.

The Palace is an empty, dead shell, and its heart has just removed itself. Gently, Hermione trails her fingers over the glass orb, and she feels a small echo of recognition from the Palace’s magic contained inside it.

“I think, it’s time to go,” Hermione murmurs to herself, and she looks around the Library, allowing herself one last look before she carefully tucks the orb in her pocket, picks up a confused Meissa, and places a hand on the still healing Cobra. Taking another breath, Hermione pushes the turmoil inside her to the back of her mind, and Side-Apparates them all back to the pack.

* * *

Ginny is the first one to see Hermione.

“Hermione! You’re back!” She cries, and Tarow whips her head around, a loud snarl tumbling out of her jaws.

#What the fuck were you thinking?!#

Meissa flinches at the loud howl, and Hermione narrows her eyes.

“What I had to, and it wasn’t a trap,” she says curtly, and Leilaki, who is standing next to Ginny, notices Cobra.

“Who’s that?” She asks, and Tarow and Ginny look down at the unconscious House-Elf.

“My House-Elf, I rescued him,” Hermione says, and she levitates the Elf. Ginny and Leilaki exchange a concerned look.

“Now if you will excuse me, I have to make sure my family gets back home safely,# Hermione says as she walks past Tarow, and the Alfā Werewolf gets an angry twitch in her eye.

#Good. Oh, give my regards to Narcissa for me,# Tarow growls after Hermione, which confuses her, but she says she will. The Alfā Werewolf flicks her ears, and then she lets out a short howl to round up the pack. Hermione watches them as the Werewolves easily dismantle their makeshift camp and in seconds, the pack is racing off into the woods.

* * *

Walking to the tent where the rest of the Black family are in, Hermione’s accosted by Tyche and Err’sh. Her Familiars press up against her sides, and Hermione lets them see everything through their bond. Tyche and Err’sh shudder at the heavy overload of emotions and memories.

‡ _I ssshall ssstand by you forever, no matter what liesss within you,_ ‡ Tyche hisses, and Err’sh bobs his head.

*So will I, Hermione Cage-Breaker,* he whistles.

“Thank you, you two,” Hermione says lovingly. Striding forwards, she enters a slowly awakening tent.

“Mmm Hermione? You’re up early,” Draco yawns as he sits up from his bed.

“We’re heading home now, where’s Tonks?” Hermione asks, and Draco blinks blearily for a second.

“Uh, in Lupin’s tttenttt—waittt, we’re leaving _now_ now?” The Alpha asks, and Hermione nods. She walks over to an empty bed and places Meissa on it, Tyche slithering around Hermione’s daughter.

“Yes, now wake Narcissa and Andromeda,” Hermione orders, and she leaves to find Tonks. It’s not that hard actually, as Err’sh led the way, although Hermione halts herself in her tracks outside the silent tent when she smells the scent of sex. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hermione backs up, a little disgusted.

“Yeah I wouldn’t go in that tent if I were you, they’ve been at it for hours.”

Hermione looks over her shoulder to see Astoria ambling towards her, hands in her trouser pockets and her loose, untucked button-down shirt flowing in the early morning breeze.

“Well, I suppose I could leave her here,” Hermione muses, and Astoria’s face drops.

“You’re leaving again? Oh! Can I come with you?! Mum and Dad are practically suffocating me at home—and I’m more used to living free nowadays since I was stuck in my other body for so long and had to be outside all the time—”

“Astoria, I swear to Merlin, you have no volume control!”

Behind Astoria, Daphne stalks towards them still dressed in her nightgown. The moment she sees Hermione, the Beta’s eyes soften, then harden again. Daphne quickens her pace, and Astoria edges out of the Beta’s warpath.

“Whatever it is, I’m coming with you,” Daphne growls, poking a finger at Hermione’s chest. Astoria perks up excitedly, and a wolf tail shifts out from her spine, whipping around wildly.

“That’s great! We can all go together!”

“Daphne, what about your parents?” Hermione asks, ignoring Astoria’s happy dancing. Daphne rolls her eyes at the question.

“I told them I’d owl them a clump of grass if I found a safer place to stay, and let’s be honest, the Black House has the strongest blood wardings,” the Beta replies, and her hand dips so its pressed flat against Hermione’s ribcage.

“I know this is us inviting ourselves over, but I’ll be damned if I let you out of my sight again,” Daphne mutters to herself, and Hermione places a hand over the Beta’s.

“Alright,” she says, and both Greengrasses light up the morning sky with their brilliant smiles.

* * *

Other than the little scuffle with Draco wanting Harry to stay with them, Tonks adamantly staying with Remus, Andromeda wanting to invite the new couple to the Grimmauld Place, Daphne and Astoria preparing to move in, everything’s fine. In the end, Lily allows Harry to go with Professor Snape’s persuading, Hermione orders Andromeda to stand down since Tonks is a legal adult who can make her own choices, and then she sends them all back to Grimmauld Place.

For the Greengrass sisters, Hermione has to Side-Apparate them to the front door, where she gives them permission to enter the Black residence. Inside, there’s a lively bustle as Narcissa works with Kreacher to arrange three new rooms for their guests.

‡ _I sssleepy,_ ‡ Meissa hisses from her place on the living room couch cuddled by Tyche’s coils when Hermione walks into that room.

*The little raven has been through so much,* Err’sh whistles softly, and Hermione sighs softly as she picks up her daughter. Tyche slithers onto her shoulders, and Err’sh flaps onto Astoria’s.

“She’s so cute,” Astoria coos as Hermione leads the Greengrass sisters upstairs. Although she hasn’t seen Harry since he entered the house, Hermione’s positive he’s in Draco’s room.

“Where are all the bones?” Astoria asks as they enter Hermione’s room, and Daphne smacks her sister on the arm, jostling Err’sh enough that he glides over to Hermione’s bedside table.

“Probably built into the foundation of the house, literally and figuratively,” Hermione replies, and Astoria starts sniffing the walls. Tyche rolls her eyes at the Alpha’s antics, and she lovingly licks a dozing Meissa’s forehead. Hermione sits down on her bed, and looks up at Le Fey’s Locket.

Daphne carefully sits next to her, and she too casts her gaze at the Locket.

“Is that . . . Wait, is that the real Slytherin’s Locket?” the Beta asks incredulously, and Astoria stops sniffing the wardrobe to look over at them.

“It’s Le Fey’s Locket, but yes,” Hermione corrects, still keeping her gaze on the silent, magical jewelry.

‡ _I’m ready now,_ ‡ Hermione hisses to Mini, and for a heated, tense minute, there’s only silence. Then, the Locket flings itself off its hook, and loops its chain around Hermione’s neck. Daphne and Astoria both jump, and the former instinctually reaches for her wand, but forces herself to lower it when she realizes the chain is loose.

Astoria scrambles onto the bed, staring intently at the Locket like it’s going to bite, and her wolf ears shift out. The Locket hovers in front of Hermione’s face, and then snaps open, revealing a pissed off, and sulky Mini. Both Daphne and Astoria gasp when they see the portrait’s likeness.

‡ _Hufflepuff’sss Cup. Go to Gringotts, Lessstrange Vault. Don’t hesssitate,_ ‡ Mini hisses curtly, and then she slams the Locket shut, and it flies back to hang itself back on its hook.

* * *

“What the bloody hell was that?” Astoria asks, and Hermione steels herself.

“A reminder of what I must do,” she says softly as her mind whirls.

“Kindly elaborate, because I don’t have the ability to read your mind,” Daphne drawls sarcastically, and Hermione looks at the Beta.

“I . . . Made a deal; I destroy three . . . Very questionable, dark artifacts, and I get a . . . Panacea in return,” Hermione says carefully, and both Greengrass sisters narrow their eyes.

“Does this deal allow you to divulge any sensitive information?” Daphne asks, and Hermione shakes her head. Astoria shrugs at her answer, although her sister merely sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Can we help in any shape or form?”

“Actually . . .” Hermione trails off, thinking about it.

“I think you can.”

* * *

“How dddo I look?” Draco asks as he dons the clothes of the unconscious wizard’s clothes.

“Like a boy trying on his father’s old clothes,” Daphne drawls as she smoothes out the wrinkles in her striped, pin suit. Draco rolls his eyes, and poses in the oversized robes.

“Honestttly, ttthis bloke seems like ttthe tttype ttto buy olddd clottthes,” he says. Hermione throws on her stolen robes, and it honestly amazes her that her plan has gone this smoothly so far. At first, she didn’t want Daphne or Astoria anywhere near the Ministry, but they pressured her into accepting their help, which lead to Draco and Harry overhearing the Greengrass sisters’ loud voices.

In the end, Hermione devised a simple, in and out plan that accommodated all of them. They didn’t tell Narcissa or Andromeda what they were conspiring to pull off; since both were more preoccupied with tending to Cobra’s wounds; rather, Hermione ordered Kreacher to bar the Black sisters from leaving Grimmauld Place, and left Meissa in Tyche and Err’sh’s care.

“ _Polyjuice_ ready,” Hermione says, and she hands the two flasks to both Daphne and Draco. They grimace, and together, they knock the potion back. Hermione looks down at the unconscious body next to her, and she focuses on his features. He’s a tall fellow, probably around one-hundred-eighty centimeters or so, a powerfully built body, with a black beard, short black hair, and a perpetual scowl even in his sleep.

Breathing in and out, she morphs herself, and in seconds, she’s the exact likeness of one Alpha Albert Runcorn. Her stolen robes fit her new form better, and she turns to look at her two accomplices. Draco now has blue beady eyes, slicked back blond hair, and a blond mustache. His face has a sort of ferrety expression. Daphne now is a short, mousy woman, with her flyway grey hair in a messy bun, and spectacles.

“You two memorized your covers?” Hermione says in Albert’s gravelly voice, and Daphne rolls her eyes.

“Of course, I’m Omega Mafalda Hopkirk, assistant to the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office,”Mafalda-Daphne says.

“I’m Alpha Reginald Cattermole, a worker in the Magical Maintenance Department, what about you?” Reginald-Draco asks.

“I’m Alpha Albert Runcorn, a high ranking Auror,” Albert-Hermione replies.

“And we’re here to watch over the bodies!” Astoria’s voice chirps from under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak.

“Why do you sound so happy about that?” Harry’s voice asks, and Daphne shushes them.

“Harry, make sure she stays quiet, alright?” The Beta asks.

“Got it,” Harry’s voice replies, and the three unconscious Ministry workers are pulled into a corner and then disappear as Harry shields them with the Cloak.

“Alright, let’s go,” Albert-Hermione says, and she leads the way out of the alley.

* * *

Following the other Ministry workers to the worker entrance to the Ministry, Albert-Hermione and Reginald-Draco have to part ways with Mafalda-Daphne as they split into the male and female restrooms. Albert-Hermione and Reginald-Draco share a look as they watch the entire row of stalls open, seven wizards step in, there’s a flushing sound, and the stalls open again.

Albert-Hermione grimaces a little when she realizes she’s going to have to flush herself into the Ministry. Even so, she grits her teeth, and when it’s her turn, she steps onto the toilet, and flushes herself down. The world blurs around her, and green flames flare in front of her, and suddenly, she’s slipping into the throng of workers entering the Atrium.

Instantly, Albert-Hermione is on high alert for any Death Eaters, her eyes subtly scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Making her way to the Lift, Albert-Hermione is quickly rejoined by a tense Reginald-Draco and a frustrated looking Mafalda-Daphne. When the Lift door clangs shut, Mafalda-Daphne lets an angry hiss.

“I’ve been hit on by no less than eight Alpha wizards— _eight fucking Alpha wizards_ —in the span of _fifteen_ bloody seconds from the Floo to here, and I want to _shank_ a bitch bloody,” Mafalda-Daphne snarls under her breath, and Reginald-Draco lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Just remember not to act on that, it won’t be good if the Pink Toad picks up on your aggression,” he says, and Mafalda-Daphne takes in a deep, calming breath.

“You’re right, I’m just—”

The Lift jerks to a halt, and the door slides open to reveal the sneering, Death Eater Yaxley.

— . —

 _Allows a human drinker to temporarily assume the form of another person_ = Polyjuice Potion


	4. The Plan: Detrailed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, Daphne, and Draco infiltrate the Ministry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can ya'll find the little easter egg I put in this chapter??
> 
> Hint: it's from Beauty and the Beast (1991)!

“Cattermole,” the Alpha Death Eater rumbles, and the Reginald-Draco stiffens up.

“I don’t appreciate you wasting my valued time to hunt you down,” Yaxley growls, blocking the lift doors from closing. Anyone heading towards the Lift veer away when they see the Death Eater.

“Sorry,” Reginald-Draco nervously stutters, and he lowers his head. Both Mafalda-Daphne and Albert-Hermione see his left hand twitching, but fortunately Yaxley doesn’t care.

“My office is still raining Cattermole, and as the new, _superior_ Head of the DMLE, I highly suggest you go fix the issue and then scurry down to Court,” Yaxley sneers, leaning towards Reginald-Draco menacingly, who blanches.

“C-Court?” He squeaks, and Hermione narrows her eyes. This isn’t going according to plan. Yaxley smiles a mean smile, and he lets out a mocking laugh.

“You really forgot about your wife’s trial? Well, I would too if my wife was accused of being a bastard Mudblood, not that I’d ever touch a bitch who was even rumored to be filth,” the Alpha man snickers, and his eyes gleam gleefully at the horror in Reginald-Draco’s eyes.

“Y-yes Corban,” Reginald-Draco squeaks, and Yaxley scowls.

“Did I say you could use my name? I’ll—”

Albert-Hermione lets out a single breath, and unleashes her Thrall.

* * *

Mafalda-Daphne shudders at the proximity of Albert-Hermione’s Thrall as it coils around Yaxley.

“Whah?” The Death Eater slurs out as the Thrall seeps his energy from him, egging him into the realm between awareness and sleep. That’s when Albert-Hermione launches a stealth attack on his mind, slipping in through the large cracks in Yaxley’s mental shields.

Holding herself above his memories to keep from being sucked into them and thus revealing her presence, she sifts through them gently but quickly as if unveiling treasure under the sand. She’s looking for a specific individual, and she pauses her sifting when she finds him.

In the brief flicker of memory, Yaxley’s staring in front of a large portrait of two men, an unimpressed look on his face. There’s the sound of a door opening, and Yaxley turns to see Alpha Augustus Rookwood. The other Death Eater’s robes are soaked in blood, leaving streaks of the substance on the tile floor.

“Hey Yaxley, did you hear that greasy Snape was awarded Dumbledore’s position? Honestly if it was me I’d kill a few of the brats,” Rookwood says in lieu of a greeting. Yaxley just shrugs.

“Meh, wanna try out that new Muggle brothel later?” Yaxley asks, but the other Alpha shakes his head.

“Later mate, Our Lord has ordered me to sort out the Mudblood papers,” Rookwood pauses, and he flicks his hand nonchalantly, as if it isn’t caked in dried blood and other black clumps of gunk.

“Although, why don’t you send up that Omega Hopkirk; the pink bitch’s assistant; to my office; Level One; when you’re done with today’s trials, I’ve been meaning to break her.”

Both Death Eaters snicker to themselves, and Yaxley leers at the thought.

“Can I join?”

“Naw, not this time, go find your own whore,” Rookwood chuckles, and he clamps Yaxley on the shoulder, leaving a red handprint.

“—errrrr, whah’s go’n on?” Yaxley mumbles, and Albert-Hermione’s rocketed back to the present. Rage fills her, and she starts to raise her hand, her fingers curling to squeeze her Thrall around the Death Eater’s body so tight that he’ll implode. The thrill of that thought flickers in her, and Yaxley lets out a choked gasp.

Suddenly, Mafalda-Daphne’s hand shoots out, pushing Albert-Hermione’s arm forcefully and the Beta flicks her fingers at Yaxley. Instantly, the Death Eater’s eyes cloud over, and he blinks hazily.

“Push him out—now!” Mafalda-Daphne hisses softly to Albert-Hermione, and she obeys, using her Thrall to make the Death Eater take a step backwards. The Lift doors slam shut, and Albert-Hermione quickly withdraws her Thrall back into her as they leave a confused looking Yaxley down on the seventh floor of the Ministry.

* * *

Mafalda-Daphne doesn’t waste anytime smacking Albert-Hermione’s shoulder roughly before she turns to Reginald-Draco, whose clutching his left forearm tightly.

“Drake, talk to me, is _he_ calling you?” She asks worriedly, but Reginald-Draco shakes his head tightly.

“No, he’s angry, one of _them_ displeased him,” the Alpha gasps, and Mafalda-Daphne and Albert-Hermione share a quick, concerned look.

“Do you remember what Harry told you to say back in that hallway?” Mafalda-Daphne asks hurriedly as the Lift starts to slow. Reginald-Draco grits his teeth, and sucks in a breath as he jerks his spine straight.

“‘No one matches wits like Draco’,” he says shakily, clenching his left hand into a fist.

“Yeah, ‘no one matches wits like Draco’,” Mafalda-Daphne smiles, and the Lift doors open again. Albert-Hermione stays silent as more wizards and witches enter the Lift, and one Beta tries to engage her in small talk. Surreptitiously, she rubs her fingers where her H. G. Tattoo; hidden by the _Polyjuice Potion_ ; is located, and focuses on her magic. Both Reginald-Draco and Mafalda-Daphne glance at her appreciatively as a bit of her magic seeps into them.

≠ “Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Including the Improper Use of Magic, Auror Department Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services,” ≠ the Lift’s monotone voice says. Reginald-Draco lets out a silent breath, and he walks off the Lift with the other wizards and witches.

Mafalda-Daphne wordlessly reaches over and gives Albert-Hermione’s hand a squeeze as the Lift rises further up.

≠ “Level One, Minister of Magic, and Support Staff,” ≠ the Lift’s monotone voice says, and the gates open to reveal the Pink Toad and Alpha Percy Weasley.

* * *

“Oh Mafalda, you’re early!” The Pink Toad simpers in her repulsive girly voice.

“Pardon me, Senior Assistant, but I must attend the to court,” the Pink Toad says to Percy, and he nods imperiously.

“By all means, don’t let me stop you. Ridding our society of Mudbloods and Blood Traitors is the best thing for all of us,” Percy says passionately. The Pink Toad giggles, and steps onto the Lift, and it takes everything in Albert-Hermione not to strangle her with her bare hands. She does notice that the manipulative bitch is using a _Concealment Charm_ to cover up the venom scars.

≠ “Albert, aren’t you getting out?” ≠ The Pink Toad asks, and Albert-Hermione stiffly walks out of the Lift. Once the doors shut, Percy levels a respectful gaze at her.

“Good morning, Runcorn,” the Alpha says, and Albert-Hermione just stares harshly at him.

“Senior Assistant,” she replies stiffly, and Percy’s posture stiffens.

“I’ll have you know, as the _Senior Assistant_ to the _Minister of Magic_ , that he wouldn’t choose a Mudblood or Blood Traitor, but he’d hire a Pureblood from a respectable lineage of Purebloods!”

Oh, so that’s what he’s worried about.

“So there’s absolutely no reason for you to stick your nose in my Pureblood business,” Percy continues, and Albert-Hermione starts to wonder if the Alpha she’s impersonating has another job that she doesn’t know about.

“We shall see,” she says in her new deep voice, and Percy flushes a little red with anger. Huffing, the Alpha storms away, leaving Albert-Hermione alone in the hall. Smirking at ruffling Percy’s feathers, she starts walking, inspecting all of the plaques on the doors. As she continues, Albert-Hermione enters a large room filled with wizards and witches hard at work.

Tilting her head, she watches the parchment flying around in neat patterns through the air to land in stacks next to each desk the wizard or witch is sitting at. Surreptitiously, Albert-Hermione flicks her fingers, and a single parchment shoots over from the closest stack and into her hand. Seeing the pink color, she knows at once whose in charge of the making of these pamphlets.

**MUDBLOODS**

_And the Dangers they Pose to_

_a Peaceful Pureblood Society_

Albert-Hermione scowls at it, and scanning to the bottom, she sees the postscript: Auror Blood Investigator Division (ABID), she sees Albert’s name, and instantly realizes why Percy was so on edge around her. Dropping the pamphlet to the floor, Hermione’s attention is drawn to the single, large, pink door facing the rows of wizards and witches. Walking to it, Albert-Hermione’s eyes widen when she sees what’s replaced where a peephole would be.

Alpha Alastor Moody’s magical eye stares forever out into the void, its head harnessstill attached. A small pang of loss shivers through Albert-Hermione at Alastor’s death, but she knows he must have taken down as many Death Eaters as he could with him. Right under the hideous souvenir, there are two plaques:

≠ **ALPHA DOLORES UMBRIDGE**

_SENIOR UNDERSECRETARY TO THE MINISTER OF MAGIC_

_HEAD OF THE ≠ MUDBLOOD ≠_

_REGISTRATION COMMISSION_

Sneering at the plaques, a motion in the corner of Albert-Hermione’s eye makes her turn around. At the other end of the large room, there’s another door on the opposite side of the Pink Toad’s. The normal door swings open, and Rookwood himself steps out, grumbling angrily to himself as he looks over a couple of bloody parchments in his hands.

* * *

Albert-Hermione stiffens, tracking the busy Death Eater as he leaves the room, so engrossed with his work that he doesn’t even notice her loitering in front of the Pink Toad’s office. As soon as he’s out of sight, Albert-Hermione edges around the working wizards and witches, clinging to the walls, and after a moment of hesitation, she slips into Rookwood’s office.

If Albert-Hermione didn’t know that a Death Eater owned this office, she would think it belonged to a regular high ranking Ministry official. The only thing that stands out is a human skull with dark, old, and bright, new bloody fingerprints covering it. Behind the desk on the far side of the office, is a filing cabinet.

Hurrying over to it, Albert-Hermione’s never been more aware of the ticking of time, hyper focused for the sound of the door opening. Rifling through the files, she realizes the files are sorted in categories by drawer: Purebloods, Halfbloods, Mudbloods, and Beasts. Biting her lip in annoyance, Albert-Hermione crouches down to the bottom Beasts drawer.

Flipping through the files, she pauses when she comes to the only ‘E’ file. Shakily, she pushes the dividers apart, and takes out the folder. Opening it, a tightness clenches in her chest.

**ALFĀ ETOILNAIPHAS MENDONICA**

—————————————————————————————————————

> **Blood Status:** Veela, ‘pure’ of any Wizarding or Muggle blood.
> 
> **Family:** Wife-Unknown (Veela), three daughters, two graduated from
> 
> Beauxbatons, one at Hogwarts. Second oldest daughter persona
> 
> non grata in Britain (assaulted House Malfoy). Youngest
> 
> daughter married into the House Black, current Head of
> 
> House Black, killed Alpha Albus Dumbledore, I.W.O.R. 1994
> 
> Champion. Three granddaughters, oldest granddaughter
> 
> married Alpha Charlie Weasley into her House. Three great
> 
> granddaughters.
> 
> **Security Status:** REVOKED. Reason: death by suicide. Death site watched in
> 
> case any family members appear.

Albert-Hermione stares at words, almost not seeing them. This was all that the Death Eaters cared to know about her mother, her life wrapped up in less than a page’s worth of words. Blinking away a growing pressure in the back of her head, Albert-Hermione traces the words, stopping when she rereads the second sentence.

_Second oldest daughter persona non grata in Britain (assaulted House Malfoy)._

Albert-Hermione struggles to understand what Juin could have done to the Malfoys. She knows that the Veela Alpha let John loose, which set off the cataclysmic series of events that led to her persona non grata, but nothing she knows has anything to do with the Malfoys. Unless John attacked one of the Malfoys on his rampage, and Juin was blamed as the perpetrator.

Putting the file back, Albert-Hermione checks for her name, and sure enough, she finds her own file.

**ALPHA HERMIONE MENDONICA**

—————————————————————————————————————

> **Blood Status:** Veela, ‘pure’ of any Wizarding or Muggle blood.
> 
> **Family:** Mother-Deceased (‘pure’ Veela), two sisters, both graduated
> 
> from Beauxbatons. Second oldest sister persona non grata in
> 
> Britain (assaulted House Malfoy). Married into the House
> 
> Black, current Head of House Black, has one daughter, killed
> 
> Alpha Albus Dumbledore, I.W.O.R. 1994 Champion. Three
> 
> nieces, oldest niece married Alpha Charlie Weasley into her
> 
> House. Two great-nieces.
> 
> **Security Status:** ≠ TRACKED. All movements are being monitored. ≠ Needs to
> 
> be interrogated by Our Lord Himself about Dumbledore’s
> 
> murder. Motives and abilities unknown, only senior Death
> 
> Eaters may engage contact, approach with the utmost caution.

Albert-Hermione isn’t that surprised by the contents of her file, although her pride finds it amusing that they find her so dangerous. Putting away her file, she flips all the way to ‘V’, shaking away her desire to take a glimpse at the ‘J’ files. She doesn’t have time to delve into Juin’s past, even though she wants to.

Finally, she finds what she’s looking for.

**ALPHA VICENCTA MENDONICA**

—————————————————————————————————————

> **Blood Status:** Veela, ‘pure’ of any Wizarding or Muggle blood.
> 
> **Family:** One twin sister-Deceased (‘pure’ Veela), stole and hid an
> 
> artifact of Our Lord.
> 
> **Security Status:** CONTAINED. Captured in March, 1996. In the process of
> 
> interrogation, so far hasn’t broken. Note: make sure to ward
> 
> her twin’s skull from Rod.

Albert-Hermione drops the file and she whips her head towards the bloody skull, her jaw dropping. That’s it, that’s how she’s going to find Vicencta. Quickly stuffing the file back into its place, Albert-Hermione shuts the drawer and walks over to the skull. At first, she raises her hand to create a duplicate, but the idea of sowing a little discord in the Death Eater’s ranks is too great to ignore.

Levitating the skull, Albert-Hermione _Disillusions_ it, and walks out of Rookwood’s office.

* * *

Entering the Lift once more, she settles back, fighting a proud smile as she glances where the _Disillusioned_ skull of Vyvian floats undetected. Albert-Hermione really had only two choices to start her hunt; one, find Professor Carrow’s house and try to track Vyvian from there, or two, discover where Rookwood was holding Vicencta, rescue her, get the last known location of Vyvian, and try to uncover the late Veela Alpha’s tracks.

Suddenly, a familiar wave of drowsiness floods Albert-Hermione’s mind, and she breathes deeply to allow the mini vision to flow easier through her. Double images overlap in her vision, and she sees a woman screaming in German. The mini vision is from Nagini’s eyes as she chases the German woman who’s shouting she doesn’t know a Gregorovich.

As the vision fades, the Lift stops and Albert-Hermione sees Reginald-Draco plod next to her. The shoulders of his coat is drenched, but otherwise, the Alpha looks physically fine.

“Morning,” he says without looking at Albert-Hermione.

“Draco, it’s me,” she mutters, and he jerks his head up at her startled.

“Blimey, I totally forgot—” Reginald-Draco cuts himself off when a group of wizards and witches enter the Lift, Beta Arthur Weasley in that number.

“Runcorn,” Arthur says tightly, and Albert-Hermione opts to silently glance his way dismissively. As the Lift rattles down to the eighth floor to the Atrium, Arthur continuously glares daggers into Albert-Hermione’s skull, and when the Lift doors open, the Beta man moves after everyone—bar Reginald-Draco—has left to block the Lift doors.

≠ “I heard you laid information about Omega Dirk Cresswell,” ≠ Arthur growls, and Albert-Hermione raises an eyebrow at him.

“And?”

“And ≠ you tracked down the wizard who faked his ≠—Gah!”

Albert-Hermione roughly pushes Arthur backwards and out of the way of the Lift doors. The Beta man lands on his arse, and a circle of space forms around him as other Ministry employees see him, and then see Albert-Hermione.

“Terribly sorry,” she says, not at all terribly sorry.

“Do try not to obstruct the way, this is a public place after all,” Albert-Hermione drawls as the Lift doors close, and the contraption sinks down.

“Bloody hell, what was that? You broke character, and where’s Daphne?” Reginald-Draco demands, and Albert-Hermione releases a sigh.

“We have to rescue her from the Pink Toad down in the courtrooms; where Cattermole’s wife’s blood status is on trial,” she says, and Reginald-Draco’s eyes widen.

“I forgot about that,” he says.

“Well, that’s why you have Albert here to escort you to the trial,” Albert-Hermione says, and Reginald-Draco frowns at her.

“But you’re just an Auror.”

“Not quite,” Albert-Hermione says, and the Lift doors announce they’re on Level Nine, the Department of Mysteries. Walking out into the black stone corridor, Reginald-Draco shivers.

“The courtrooms are to the left, did you perhaps hear which one the trial’s being held in?” He asks, and Albert-Hermione shakes her head.

“Brilliant,” he sighs, and he leads her down a narrow flight of stairs. At the very bottom, a cold, unnatural cold steels into Albert-Hermione’s bones, and she stiffens, realizing too late what that means. Reginald-Draco shudders, and as they round the corner to the right, they’re greeted by the sight of dozens of Dementors.

* * *

The dark creatures are packed in the hall, floating around petrified Wizarding people waiting to be tried.

“Stay close,” Albert-Hermione mutters, and Reginald-Draco nods quickly, practically gluing himself to her back. Taking a steadying breath, Albert-Hermione stalks forwards, forcing herself to ignore the chilling Dementor mist that clings to her. All the Dementors turn slowly towards them as they pass through, and one even reaches out for her.

“Don’t even try,” Albert-Hermione growls, smacking the Dementor with her Thrall. It recoils from her, hissing. Suddenly, a door bursts open on the left, a wizard pleading for his life as two Dementors swoop down and grasp the struggling wizard by his arms.

≠ “Next—Mary Cattermole,” ≠ the Pink Toad’s happy voice says, and a woman stands up shakily.

“Reg!” She whisper cries when she sees Reginald-Draco. The Alpha flinches, but then hurries towards her, and the woman flings herself at him.

“Oh Reg, what are—” Mary starts to say, but Albert-Hermione herds them into the courtroom wordlessly.

“Ah, thank you Albert,” the Pink Toad simpers from above, and Albert-Hermione nods gruffly. The courtroom is divided in half by one low court area and one raised platform. Surrounding the court area, Dementors drift predatorily, and in the middle of the empty area is a single wooden chair. On the raised platform, the prosecutors sit in curved benches, and in the very middle, is a high balustrade.

The Pink Toad stands tall behind the balustrade, her Cat Patronus sauntering around the raised platform protecting that side of the courtroom from the Dementor’s effects. On one side of the Pink Toad is a smirking Yaxley, and on the other is Mafalda-Daphne, nervously tapping her quill on the parchment in front of her.

Albert-Hermione walks past Reginald-Draco and Mary to the raised platform, already out of the court’s attention. Walking carefully through the stands, she takes a seat behind Mafalda-Daphne, and gently brushes a tendril of her Thrall against the Beta’s arm. The nervous tapping instantly ceases, and Mafalda-Daphne’s body relaxes a little.

Mary stumbles into the chair at the Pink Toad’s order, and chains appear, wrapping around her tightly. Reginald-Draco stands behind Mary, laying his hands on her shoulders supportively. The trial starts, and as the Pink Toad cuts into Mary, twisting her words around, Albert-Hermione leans forwards to Mafalda-Daphne.

“Summon your Patronus on my mark,” she whispers, and the Beta gives her a small, jerking nod.

≠ “—the same cannot be said for you. _‘Parents’ professions: greengrocers’,_ ” ≠ the Pink Toad lies with a smirk, and Yaxley barks out a laugh. Mary lets out a dreadful sob, and Reginald-Draco’s face tightens as he stares up at Albert-Hermione, his eyes pleading. She gives him a wry smirk, she looks over at the Pink Toad, and raises her hand at the foul Alpha’s back.

Summoning all her utter loathing and rage for the Pink Toad, Albert-Hermione smiles dangerously.

“ _Avada Kedavra_.”

The force of the bolt of death green light bursting from her palm and slamming into the Pink Toad ends the dead Alpha over the balustrade head over heels. Instantly screams erupt as some wands are drawn, some prosecutors flee, the Pink Toad’s Patronus dies, and the Dementors launch their attack.

A surge of pleasure swamps through Albert-Hermione’s body, and she moans at the sensation.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Mafalda-Daphne cries, leaping to her feet as her Arctic Fox chases after the Dementors swarming around Reginald-Draco and Mary.

“Traitor!” Yaxley roars, aiming his wand at Albert-Hermione, shouting the same Unforgivable at her. A pressure pounds in the back of Albert-Hermione’s skull, and her body seems to move on its own accord, lazily dodges the curse. Suddenly, her body leaps at Yaxley.

The Death Eater doesn’t expect that, and he lets out a shout of surprise as they tumble off the raised platform.

“Hermione!” Mafalda-Daphne cries out in alarm, and her Patronus flickers as Albert-Hermione and Yaxley slam into the floor.

* * *

There’s a brief second where there’s total silence, as everyone seems to unconsciously understand that something important is happening, and so they watch with bated breath. Slowly, a single figure unfurls from the ground, straightening their spine as they drag their limp partner up by their broken neck.

“She never did learn how to properly control the aftereffects,” Présage sneers.

— . —

 _Latebra_ = Concealment Charm (Latin: Concealment)

 _Allows a human drinker to temporarily assume the form of another person_ = Polyjuice Potion

 _Calamaitatis_ = Disillusion Charm (Latin: Disillusion) 2x

 _Avada Kedavra_ = Unforgivable Killing Curse

 _Expecto_ _Patronum_ = Patronus Charm


	5. Self Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Présage's turn to tell her story . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two past events are set in 1978 and 1977.

The thud of Yaxley’s lifeless body echoes in the silent courtroom, and Présage rolls her neck, the ligaments in her spine cracking as she unfurls her massive feathered wings. Présage runs her taloned fingers through her hair, and when Cursed Fire bursts into existence around Reginald-Draco, Mary, Mafalda-Daphne, and Présage herself.

That’s when chaos reigns again.

The Dementors swoop down to prey on the fleeing wizards and witches, and Présage watches with an amused smirk as they serve around her Cursed Fire.

“Y-y-y-y-yo—” Reginald-Draco stutters so hard as he points a shaking finger at her, his eyes wide with horror. Mary clutches at his arm, petrified with terror. Présage snarls mockingly at him, and the Alpha flinches hard.

“. . . Hermione?” Mafalda-Daphne says in a scared, confused tone, taking a single step towards the Veela in her True form. Présage snaps her raptor eyes; dark-purple orbs with amber flecked; at the Beta, her expression dropping into a cold, indifferent mask.

“It was really you! You killed him!” Reginald-Draco cries out, and Présage smirks.

“Reg, I want to go home!” Mary sniffles.

“Hermione, what’s going on?” Mafalda-Daphne asks, taking another step tentatively towards the Veela Alfā. Présage levels her gaze back on the Beta, and scowls.

“ _That is not my name._ ”

Mafalda-Daphne, Reginald-Draco, and Mary all tense up at the Alfā voice, and Présage huffs out a plume of Cursed Fire.

“My name is Présage,” the Veela Alfā’s eyes slide to Reginald-Draco, and he gulps as those raptor-like eyes darken dangerously.

• ** _Cccreaturesss of thhhe Dark, I sssummon thhhee, cccome forthhh to me,_** • Présage intones loudly in Daiemenoksol, and all the humans flinch at the harsh, inhuman-sounding language. Every Dementor in the courtroom turns simultaneously to the Veela Alfā, and she shivers despite herself.

• ** _Whhhat isss your will, One Touccchhhed withhh thhhe Fingggersss of thhhe Beyond?_** • A Dementor hisses in its terrible voice, flying too close to Présage for her liking. She rises into the air, pumping her powerful wings to keep her aloft. Raising a hand, her Cursed Fire slowly starts to funnel towards her, leaving the humans to the Dementors’ mercy.

The humans are crying out, backing together as they aim their wands at the Dementors eagerly waiting.

• _ **Feassst,**_ • Présage says simply, and she curls siphons the last of her Cursed Fire, and the Dementors dive towards their prey.

* * *

For some reason, when she hears the enraged scream of Mafalda-Daphne, Présage flinches.

“ _PRÉSAGE!_ ”

She stares into the furious, brilliant, grass-green eyes; the potion must have worn off; and she turns away. Présage reaches out to the nearest massive beacon of magic in the walls of the courtroom, and she pulls on it, allowing it to drag her through the places between the magical floors of the Ministry. Anywhere to flee from the accusing, betrayed look in those eyes.

There’s a sharp sound of stone cleaving, and Présage blinks her eyes, adjusting to the dim lighting. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees the black stone arch standing imposingly before her, and she takes a step back. Présage remembers what her Mother told her about the infamous structure, although she never expected that the Wizarding people were daft enough to build their Ministry around the Veil of Death.

As she takes another step backwards, the unnatural hisses and whispers slither out louder from behind the smoky veil, curling around her. Présage snarls, lighting her hands on Cursed Fire, but even that barely beats back the eternal chill of the room and the words.

Présage flares her wings, searching around the room for an exit, but the whispers get louder, piling over each other in their haste to be heard.

_. . . Breath . . . Use me . . . Inhale . . ._

_. . . Alpha! Help me!_ Alpha! _. . ._

_. . . try to have fun . . ._

_. . . I trusted you! . . ._

_. . . Please . . . Please . . . Please . . ._

_. . . I will always love you . . ._

_. . . You are nothing to me . . ._

_. . . I just wanted her to love me . . ._

_. . . Kill me, end it! . . ._

_. . . You’re_ my _witch . . ._

_. . . Yes Mistress . . ._

_. . . Aren’t you lonely? . . ._

Présage freezes at the question, and all the voices disappear except for that last one.

_. . . I can feel it . . . You’re all alone now . . ._

The voice croons, and Présage bristles.

»You don’t know me,« she hisses, and the voice chuckles.

 _. . . Oh? There’s no one alive who knows you who_ really _are . . ._ Présage _. . ._

The voice drawls, and Présage clenches her fists.

»You’re not dead, are you?« She growls, her eyes fixed on the arch, and the voice hisses.

_. . . Not quite . . . But you’re going to help me with that . . ._

Wisps of mist start flowing out from the Veil, heading straight for Présage, and she lights up a ring of her Cursed Fire around her.

_. . . You’ll find that I can be highly . . . Persuasive . . ._

The voice purrs, and more mist starts pouring out, circling Présage. The cold is almost as worse as Dementor mist, and she can feel the malevolent aura flowing around her.

_. . . I shall have what is mine . . ._

The voice growls excitedly, and the mist starts to press against Présage’s Cursed Fire, smoke hissing into the frigid air.

“Not today.”

Présage whips her head towards the new voice, and she stares at the middle aged woman standing right next to her, entirely unbothered by her close proximity to Présage’s Cursed Fire.

_. . . YOU! . . ._

The voice roars furiously, and woman shrugs, but a smug smirk dances across her lips.

“Magick, could you shut the door?” The woman asks, and all along the arch, deeply carved runes glow gold, and there’s a _WHOOSH_ of air as the mist is sucked back from where it came from. It extinguishes Présage’s Cursed Fire in a blink of an eye, and all thevoices behind the Veil break out in screams and howls, but in seconds, they’re gone with a resounding _gonging_ sound from the arch.

It echoes in the large chamber, and Présage and the woman stare at the Veil of Death until the glowing runes fade.

* * *

“How are you feeling dear?” The woman asks Présage, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she narrows her eyes at the woman, trying to study her features, but her eyes can’t seem to entirely focus, almost like—

“A _Confundus Charm_ ,” Présage mutters, and rubs her eyes.

“Sorry about that, force of habit I suppose,” the woman says, and she waves her hand in front of her face. Présage blinks a couple of times, and when she sees the woman clearly, her jaw drops.

“You,” she gasps, and the woman smiles happily at her.

“You do recognize me,” she said, pleased. “It’s been a while for both of us,” the woman Hermione called The Other says. Présage blinks again, staring at naturally wide, brown and silver swirling eyes flecked with amber. Her wavy, waist length, dirty-blond hair is gathered in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, accenting her willowy figure. To top it off, the Gamma woman is only ten centimeters shorter than Hermione in her normal form.

Présage can’t seem to form any words, and the Gamma woman smiles melancholily at her reaction.

“It’s good to see you, Présage,” she says, and Présage nods slowly.

“Who are you?” She asks, and the Gamma woman sighs.

“Let’s take a walk, and I’ll tell you,” she says, and she turns to a solid wall.

“Magick, if you would?”

As soon as the Gamma woman asks, a tunnel appears, and she gestures for Présage to follow her.

“I have acquired many names over my life,” the woman begins to say as they start to walk in the dimly lit tunnel.

“I know Hermione called me ‘The Other’, which is an apt name if any, although I dislike its’ sterile, inhuman feeling.”

They turn a corner, and Présage wonders how this tunnel exists in the Ministry’s magic.

“Usually, I wouldn’t reveal my true name, but given that I’m talking to you and not Hermione, I think I can make this one exception,” the Gamma woman says, and Présage tilts her head at her.

“How do you know that?” She asks suspiciously, and the woman gives her a droll look.

“The fact that you have to ask gives me my answer, although I don’t know why you haven’t reached out to your—”

“—she’s not my _anything!_ ” Présage hisses sharply, and the Gamma woman stares levelly at her.

“I see.”

They stop in the middle of the tunnel, staring at each other, each trying to make the other look away first. Présage refuses to lose, and she flares her wings a little, but the Gamma woman keeps a neutral, bland look about her. Those strange eyes seem to stare right through Présage, and internally, she starts squirming. This isn’t what she’s used to, and she feels unbalanced.

“Mars.”

Présage blinks, startled by the word.

“What?”

“My nickname is Mars,” the Gamma woman says simply, and she continues walking. Présage follows her, a little confused about the future. She only knows one other person who’s eccentric enough to name a child after a planet . . .

“Don’t try to overthink it too much,” Mars says, and she waves her hand, making the tunnel exit appear. They carefully enter a room full of clocks, and Présage remembers it instantly. Mars lets out a little, frustrated sigh, and she puts her hands on her hips as she looks over the crowded room.

“It’s ironic that the Unspeakables never have the time to organize these clocks, even in my own time,” Mars huffs, and Présage’s internal questions are answered.

“Why are you here?” She asks, and Mars turns around, a sad expression seeping onto her face.

“Well, that’s the question isn’t it? Am I here to help you, or am I here to speak to you?”

Présage frowns, confused.

“Aren’t those the same things?”

Mars shakes her head, and she picks up a clock, inspecting the old, rusted spoons on it.

“Not necessarily. Helping you would be me giving you a mini therapy session on why you’re so adamant to distance yourself from Hermione—”

Présage flinches at the blatant accusation.

“—and speaking to you would be what we are doing right now. Asking questions and receiving answers,” Mars says, and she puts down the clock.

“Can’t you do both?” Présage asks, and Mars thinks it over.

“Well, you’re pressed for time as it were, so I suppose we could.”

Présage fidgets, and she lets out a deep breath. She forgot about Daphne and Draco. Idly, she wonders if they survived, although most of her hopes that the latter didn’t. Mars waits patiently, watching Présage’s face. It occurs to Présage that Mars is unusually unbothered by her True-Veela appearance, but if her parents are really who Présage suspects, then the Gamma woman probably doesn’t really care about her form.

“. . . She . . . _Hermione_ . . . She already has _everything,_ ” Présage growls, and her stomach churns about admitting that.

“Everyone loves her, adores her, she’s got loads of potential mates wanting her, but she just takes it all for granted,” she continues, and a trickle of anger wriggles into her voice.

“I see,” Mars says softly, and that’s when the floodgates open, and Présage pours out everything that she’s bottled inside her.

“ _Me_ , on the other hand—I have _nothing_ of my own! I have to hide my own existence in _her_ body, trapped in _her_ mind, unable to break free unless her mental shields are weakened! Even then, I’m on limited time because her mind is naturally stronger! I have to live through _her_ eyes, I have no choice but to be a spectator in another’s body!

“Do you know how frustrating that is?! I had to be _pulled_ from Hermione to even _breathe_ by myself! I couldn’t even kill myself if I wanted to! _She_ already controls everything in my existence, and I shall _never_ take the chance of her shoving me down permanently if she discovers who I _truly_ am!

“There was only one person who saw me for me, and it wasn’t the woman who _birthed_ me—no! It was my _real_ mother, the one who _chose_ me! She taught me how to fight and even how to _live!_ She loves _me!_ She told me that it was _Hermione’s_ fault I’m like this! Maman was going to help me finally have my own body— _but then she fucking killed herself for Hermione!_ ” Présage snarls, and before she knows it, Mars wraps her in a hug.

“I won’t say that your path will be easy, but it is going to get better, I swear it,” Mars says, and the ground Présage’s looking at blurs. Growling wordlessly, she wipes her tearing eyes.

“Maman told me I’ll never have a life if Hermione still breathes,” Présage rumbles, and Mars holds her tighter.

“There’s a thing about time that I need you to know,” Mars says, and her grip around Présage starts to weaken. Présage looks down at the Gamma woman, and her eyes widen as she sees Mars’ body start to fade away in bits.

“Everything has multiple voices, it’s only the victors that are heard,”

By now Mars’ lower portion of her body is already completely gone, and the Gamma woman places a warm hand on Présage’s cheek.

“Space might obsess with Hermione, but Présage,”

Mars is now nearly all gone, her eyes lingering the longest.

“Time loves you.”

And with those parting words, Mars disappears back to her own time, whenever that may be.

* * *

Présage stands still in the Time Chamber, trying to sort through her emotions. Unlike Hermione, she faces them head on. Turmoil, frustration, anger, confusion, hope, and something she can’t figure out. She wants, no, she needs the future that Mars swore she’d have; that ‘better path’.

But how does she get there? Reviewing her entire encounter with Mars, Présage analyzes her words for any possible instructions. Throughout their entire conversation, there was only one part that Mars specifically made sure Présage was listening to her. So she takes a steadying breath, and awkwardly picks up the clock with rusted spoons that Mars held.

»Magick,« she whispers, and she swears a phantom wind rustles the feathers on her body. There’s almost a presence around her, waiting for her to continue to speak.

»Magick, show me . . . Show me what I need to know,« Présage says, and suddenly the ground flips out from under her. Shrieking in surprise, she falls upwards, letting go of the clock as she spirals up, up, and up into the darkness where the ceiling must hide. But there’s no end, and the lights from the clocks quickly disappear into a pinprick above her, and the darkness consumes Présage.

* * *

»This is the stupidest idea you could have every thought of, and you have a lot,« a Veela groans.

»Pipe down would ya? The only thing that matters is that the Headmistress said yes!” another, much younger Veela replies back, fiddling with the strap on her trunk. The first Veela rolls her eyes. They two of them lean awkwardly on the wall of the French Ministry, waiting. The Wizarding people passing them give the pair an odd look, but pass on.

»That’s because I helped you forge Maman’s signature—why can’t you complete your Seventh year at Beauxbatons like a regular sister?« The older Veela sighs, and the younger Veela smirks at the first.

»Maman’s being more overbearing than usual now that you’ve moved to Italy. Besides, you _know_ why I can’t spend a year at Beauxbatons,« the younger Veela bites her lip as worry overtakes her. The older Veela sighs, and she puts a comforting hand on her little sister’s.

»You two are going to be fine, your Mate is probably waiting for you to sweep her off her feet.«

The younger Veela grins shakily.

»Yeah, it’s just—how did you cope being a Mum?«

The older Veela opens her mouth to answer, but an announcement on the speakers interrupts her.

“ **Portkey to London sending off in two minutes!** ” A French witch calls out, and a couple of people gather towards her.

»Well, that’s my cue,« the younger Veela says, a nervous tone entering her voice.

»You better send me letters, or so help me Juin, I’ll fly over to Hogwarts and drag you back here myself,« the older Veela says as she pulls Juin into a fierce hug.

»Thanks Souci, I mean it,« Juin replies as she hugs her older sister back just as tightly.

“ **Portkey to London sending off in one minute!** ”

»I’ll owl you when I get there!« Juin calls over her shoulder as she jogs to join the group waiting for the Portkey.

* * *

“Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god!” A woman moans in pain.

“That’s it, push, you’re doing so well! Just one more!” A nurse encourages at the foot of the bed. Another keeps a keen eye on the woman’s vitals, while a third holds onto the woman’s hand.

“You got this Jean, just think about your baby girls!” The nurse encourages, letting Jean throttle her hand in a white-knuckle grip.

“It fucking— _AH!_ ” Jean can’t finish her sentence, howling as she gives a final push before sagging onto the hospital bed, sweaty and exhausted.

“That was brilliant honey! You did so well!” The nurse exclaims, patting Jean’s arm. Jean smiles weakly, her eyes fluttering open blearily. Unnoticed behind them, the one nurse swaddles the twin girls silently, making eye contact with the nurse monitoring Jean’s vitals.

One baby is healthy as she can be, already smiling to herself as if she’s heard something funny. The other is still and pale, already her tiny form is growing colder in the nurse’s arms. Jean and the nurse by her bed turns to the one holding her babies, and that nurse hands her the healthy one. Jean takes the baby in her arms, waiting for the second, but a nurse pulls off her mask and shakes her head sadly.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and the new mother’s face falls.

“What happened yo my baby?” Jean asks in a shell shocked voice, holding her surviving baby close to her chest. Sorrow fills the other two nurses, and one makes the sign of the cross. The nurse opens her mouth to respond, but a fourth nurse walks in.

“ _Immobulus_ ,” the witch in disguise waves her hand at the occupants of the room. Instantly, everyone freezes, and the witch walks up to the nurse carrying the pale baby. Staring at the tiny face, the witch holds her hand over the baby’s head, and her palm starts to glow blue.

A tiny dot of blue appears, but just as the witch goes to touch it, the blue winks out, and the witch scowls. Pulling back her hand, she stares at her glowing palm, when she notices a matching glow emanating from the healthy baby’s head. Intrigued, the witch walks over to inspect the other baby.

The small dot of blue slowly expands on the back of the healthy baby’s head, but when she reaches for it again, a strong purple glow covers it. The witch pulls back her hands, tilting her head in an almost bird-like fashion, watching as the purple recedes a little to reveal the blue again.

“Fascinating,” the witch mutters to herself. Walking back to the pale baby, she plucks it from the nurse’s grasp, and unceremoniously vanishes the dead baby’s body. Heading out of the room, she spots the husband waiting nervously. As the door shuts, the witch snaps her fingers, wordlessly casting her spells.

“She’s a healthy baby girl!” She hears a nurse coo, and the witch clears her throat.

“Mr. Granger, you can come in,” she says, and he rushes by her with a proud smile on his face. The witch leaves the happy family, and she exits the human hospital, pausing when she looks up at the night sky. Hundreds of thousands of stars light up the darkened world, and the witch’s left eye spasms.

Hissing, the witch finds a secluded spot behind the hospital, her disguise melting with every step she takes until her true body unfurls. Gritting her teeth, the Veela flies off.

— . —

 _Confundo_ = Confundus Charm

 _Immobulus_ = Freezing Charm


	6. Blast From The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hidden Mendonica history is revealed to Présage . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The past events are from 1977-1982

Juin grimaces as she makes her way through the packed Leaky Cauldron. Clutching her trunk close to her, she holds it in front of her, using it to part the crowd for her. Finally arriving at the bar, she tries to flag down the bartender, but he’s in a deep conversation with another wizard. Sighing, she scans the rowdy establishment, a look of distaste settling over her face.

Fortunately, she’s kept her Thrall wrapped up as tightly as she can, so she only gets a few looks from a passing witch or wizard. Finally, Juin notices the bartender finish his conversation. Waving him over, his eyes light up, and Juin inwardly groans.

“I don’t see that many Veela ’round here, what can I get ya?” He asks, leaning against the bar with a cocky smirk. Juin rolls her eyes at the Alpha wizard, entirely unamused.

“I need to uze your Floo Powder,” Juin drawls, and the bartender’s smirk grows.

“Oh? Can’t I convince ya to stay a little longer?” His Alpha pheromones start to leak off him, and Juin’s eye twitches as she feels the tell-tale spike of anger in her Thrall.

“ **Non.** [No.] Juz tell **moi** [me] ’ow much ze Podwer cozez,” Juin bites out, and she straightens her spine as she smells his pheromones linger near her.

“Aw, come on baby, there’s no— _EEP!_ ” The bartender leaps back from Juin, gripping the hand that was sliding towards her and rubbing the red spot. The Wizards and witches closest to hear the bartender turn to look at them, but Juin’s staring at the most put together Omega woman she’s ever seen.

The woman barely looks like she’s in her twenties, and her elegant, rippling floor length dress stands out starkly amongst the more drab clothes of all the other pub patrons. Her regal bearing simply radiates aristocracy and wealth. However, it’s the sight of her wand; long and smooth, just like its master; held in a black gloved hand that draws Juin’s attention.

“Flirting again Heckleson? My, whatever shall your wife think?” the Omega woman says cooly, and the bartender’s—Heckleson’s—face whitens. A hush falls over the pub as everyone quiets down to watch the scene play out.

“I—it was just some harmless fun, that’s all,” Heckleson stammers, and the Omega raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“I see, and that just so happens to include releasing your filthy pheromones where they aren’t wanted?” The Omega woman says in a cold, cutting voice as she stalks forwards, waving away his Alpha pheromones lingering in the air. A round of snickers roll out from the crowd.

“Now, as my memory serves, Floo Powder only costs two Sickles,” the Omega woman says, flicking her wand, and the four silver coins clatter onto the bar.

“Ah—yes, but there’s four—” Heckleson starts to stammer, but the Omega woman holds up her hand, and the Alpha man shuts his jaw with a click. She stows her wand in her sleeve again, and looks pointedly at the Floo Powder jar behind Heckleson.

“Er—yes—of course! I wasn’t insinuat’n anything ’bout ya m’lady—”

“Quiet,” the Omega woman’s order silences Heckleson, and he hurriedly pushes two small pouches towards Juin and the Omega woman. He wrings his hands together, opening and closing his mouth, and a smile spreads on Juin’s face as she watches him squirm with indecision.

“That will be all Heckleson,” the Omega woman says imperiously, as she daintily picks up her pouch and saunters towards the fireplace. Juin doesn’t waste time watching the Omega go, instead, she grabs her pouch and skips after the woman. At the fireplace, the pub settles back down to its usual rowdy atmosphere, and Juin ambles next to the Omega woman who’s obviously waiting for her.

“I can pay you back,” Juin says, and the Omega woman glances over at her with a nonchalant expression.

“Don’t worry about it, a few Sickles is nothing to me. Besides, we Omegas have to look out for each other,” the Omega woman says with a gentle smile, and Juin awkwardly coughs.

“Erm, I am actually an Alpha,” she says, and she loosens her Thrall inside her. The Omega woman’s eyes widen, and she sniffs the air subtly.

“Ah, I see.”

Juin didn’t know that coiling her Thrall in her like that could make her smell like an Omega.

“Zankz anyway, I probably would ’ave ’andled ze zituation much worze zan a _Ztinging Jinz,_ ” Juin continues, fiddling with her Floo Powder pouch.

“Your welcome . . .” The Omega woman trails off, her eyes flicking up and down Juin’s body.

“Forgive my manners, I have yet to introduce myself,” the Omega woman turns fully to Juin, and the Veela Alpha realizes that she’s a little taller than the woman.

“I am Omega Lady Narcissa Malfoy, wife to Alpha Lord Lucius Malfoy,” Lady Malfoy says, and she raises her gloved hand with her palm facing downwards. Juin takes the offered appendage and kisses the back of the Omega woman’s hand.

“It’z an ’onor to meet you my Lady, I am Alpha Juin Mendonica, ’eiress to ’ouse Mendonica.”

Lady Malfoy raises a sharp eyebrow.

“Heiress? I take it this is your first time in England then?”

Juin nods, and gently lets go of Lady Malfoy’s hand.

“ **Oui** [Yes], eet ez . . . Cold,” Juin says disdainfully, and Lady Malfoy smiles wryly.

“Then we shall have to buy you the proper clothes. I have an appointment in Hogsmeade, but I can spare some time for you before I must attend it.”

Juin’s jaw drops, and then a bright smile appears on her face.

“Really?”

Lady Malfoy links her arm in Juin’s, and the Omega woman gives the Veela Alpha a sly smile.

“But of course, a Black always keeps her promise.”

Juin wonders what Lady Malfoy means by that, but then she’s being pulled into the green fire by the Omega woman.

* * *

Juin curls around an Omega girl whimpering in exhaustion.

“You did zo well, **mon amour,** [my love,]” the Veela purrs, and the Omega grins shakily.

“Yeah,” she yawns, clutching the twin girls nestled on her chest. They’re all alone in a large room, and the Omega yawns again.

“So nice of Dumbledore to let us use the Come and Go Room.”

Juin just smiles and places a loving kiss on the Omega’s forehead.

“You zhould zleep Elize,” she murmurs, and Elise nods sleepily.

“Yeah . . . M’okay . . .” The Omega trails off, slumber overtaking her. Juin’s happy expression starts to fade into a serious one as she stares at her Mate, and the Veela Alpha lets out a controlled breath. Adjusting her green and silver rimmed Hogwarts robes, Juin looks over to the unopened letter on the bedside table. Careful to not disturb the now snoring Elise, she reaches over and picks it up.

Staring at the parchment, Juin bites her lip, her gaze hardening the longer she stares at it. Suddenly, a soft, rhythmic knock sounds at the door, and Juin grabs her wand from her robes and flicks it at the door knob. It swings open, and an Alpha girl darts in and quickly shuts and locks the door.

“How’s Elise?” The Alpha asks tentatively, and Juin puts down the letter to give the Alpha her full attention.

“Tired, but zat’z to be ezpected,” Juin murmurs, and the Alpha smiles.

“That’s great! . . . Can I come over without you attacking me?”

Juin rolls her eyes good naturally, but she nods anyway. The Alpha skips over to Elise’s other side, and she coos at the baby twins.

“Awww!”

“Zuzh,” Juin hisses, but Elise wakes up, blinking lethargically.

“Hey Lily,” she smiles, and Lily smiles brightly back at Elise.

“Hey bestie, what did you name these little cuties?”

“Ze Alpha on ze right ez Annie—”

“Oh my God! You totally named her after _Annie_ the movie!” Lily interrupts, and Elise chuckles. Juin rolls her eyes.

“Yes Lily, we did, although this Annie is never going to be orphaned,” the Omega says firmly.

“Well duh, we’re only Seventh years—now tell me the other girl’s name!” Lily squeals in excitement.

“Ze Beta ez Claire,” Juin says.

“Nice. What’s in that?”

The Gryffindor Alpha points to the letter, and Elise looks down at it.

“Eet’z from my Maman,” Juin says, and both Elise and Lily stiffen.

“Sorry, but I think you just said _that_ is from your _demon mother?_ ” Lily sneers at the parchment, and Elise gives the Alpha a sharp look. Juin scowls, but lets the comment slide.

“Well don’t open it then, obviously,” Lily says, crossing her arms.

“Lily,” Elise chastises sternly, but the Alpha shrugs.

“Face it girl, that woman is _toxic_ ,”

“You zink I don’t know zat?” Juin growls, and Lily raises an eyebrow.

“Abuse victims usually don’t know they’re in an abusive relationship,” the Alpha says in a knowing voice.

“Speaking from experience?” Juin says coldly, and Lily bristles.

“Both of you shut your gobs right this instant!” Elise barks, a sharp spike of angry Omega pheromones lashing both Alphas, making them wince and the baby twins shift in their sleep.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, sniping at each of when I literally _just gave birth!_ Think of the example you tossers are setting for Annie and Claire!” The Omega growls, glaring at her Mate and best friend.

“Sorry,” the two Alphas apologize, and Elise humphs.

“Love, you might as well read the letter to see what your mother wants. Think of it just like drinking a potion, it’ll taste terrible at first but you’ll get better,” the Omega says to Juin, who exhales nervously.

“Okay,” the Veela Alpha murmurs, and she slowly breaks the seal and unfolds the crips parchment. As soon as she does, Juin lets out a startled shriek as a whip of fire shoots out from the letter, slapping itself around her arm in a blink of an eye and searing through her robes.

“JUIN!” Elise and Lily cry out, startling the twins awake.

“Eet’z fine! Eet doz’t burn!” Juin hurried says, staring at the smoking rope of Cursed Fire licking at her arm.

“EXCUSE ME?!” Elise roars, and the twins start crying. The Omega hurriedly turns to sooth them while keeping her eyes glued to Juin.

“DOESN’T BU—SEE _THIS_ IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT! SHE’S INSANE!” Lily throws her hands up, and the Cursed Fire flares up in response, forming a mockery of a face. It silences everyone in the room.

_. . . Juin . . . You are not at Beauxbatonz . . ._

The cold voice of Etoilnaiphas states coldly, and it sends shivers down Juin’s spine.

_. . . I can not help but wonder . . . Zhould I make a vizit to your zizter? . . ._

“ **Non,** [No,]” Juin whispers, horrified.

_. . . I’ve been patient, Juin . . . Do you not care for your family? . . . Why do you run? . . ._

Elise grips the twins close to her and Lily clenches her hands stiffly at her sides.

_. . . Make no miztake . . . You and I zhall talk come zummer . . ._

The Veela Alfā’s voice pauses, seemingly done with its threatening words, and the flames start to die down. But just as the Cursed Fire burns to ash, it hisses one last sentence.

_. . . Bring my grandchildren home . . . I want to meet the twinz . . ._

* * *

Diagon Alley is bustling with life and excitement as the Wizarding folk go about their business. In the middle of it all, an exuberant Omega woman bounces along the cobblestone road, dragging her tall wife to all the windows.

“Elise, slow down! Rozanica, now I know where the girls got their sugar high from!” Juin laughs, her French accent much lighter than it was years prior, and Elise turns around blinking innocently up at her.

“But Juuuuuin, this is the first time we’ve had time for ourselves in a while,” the Omega purrs, tugging Juin against her.

“They’re eight, love, they’re at the age where they’re the clingiest,” Juin says with a loving smile. Elise nods, but then her eyes sparkle mischievously.

“But they’re not here, so we can do whatever we want.”

The Veela Alpha’s eyes darken at her wife’s seductive tone, and she intertwines her fingers with the Omega woman’s.

“Anything?” Juin growls, and Elise smirks up at her.

“Anything—at home! Now come on, let’s shop!” Just like that, the Omega woman bounces back to her energetic state once more and pulls Juin through Diagon Alley. A couple of shops later and a few Galleons poorer, Juin looks up from the dress that Elise is obsessing over.

By chance, she locks eyes with a familiar, older Omega woman through the storefront window. The world seems to pause as they stare, an endless stream of unsaid of words parting them.

“Cissy,” Juin murmurs, and the name breaks the spell holding them captive. The older Omega woman turns and strides away out of the store’s field of view.

“—thinking the purple would look better than blue?” Elise says to her oblivious wife.

“What are you looking at?” The Omega woman cranes her neck, trying to spot whatever Juin’s looking at through the window.

“Juin?”

The Veela Alpha blinks, snapping back to the present. Sending her wife a sheepish smile, she glances back out the window.

“I just thinking of—ah—I saw a witch wearing something you might like?” Juin glances down at Elise, her cheeks heating at what she assumes is a blatant lie. Elise tilts her head, a bashful smile creeping on her face.

“Really? Did you see where she went?”

“Ah, well—it’s going to be a surprise! Yes—actually,” Juin places her hands on Elise’s shoulders, making the Omega woman look her in the eye.

“You stay here, buy whatever you want, I’m going to buy the—thing, and then I’ll come right back,” Juin says in a low voice, and Elise grins up at her.

“Well, you better get going, don’t keep me waiting for long, Alpha,” Elise purrs, and Juin’s breath hitches. Trying to plaster a convincing grin on her face, she swiftly exits the shop. It’s easy to pick up the distinctive scent of Narcissa, and Juin tracks it all the way to the entrance of Knockturn Alley. Hesitating for a brief second, the Veela Alpha squares her shoulders, and stalks into the dark alley.

Cloaked figures and hunched hags clog the sides of the seedy, narrow path, and many heads turn to stare and hiss at her as she passes. Juin keeps her guard up, keeping her gaze straight in front of her while letting her Thrall hover around her menacingly. Any who dare to try to touch her jerk back at her Thrall’s touch, and they cower and scurry out of her way.

Eventually, the street starts to clear up of people, and soon, the path is empty and the buildings around Juin become more sophisticated looking. Pausing, she takes a tentative sniff of the still air, her instincts prickling at the unnatural silence. Suddenly, a door a few buildings ahead bursts open and the sounds of raucous men and drinks clinking shatter the silence.

A woman stumbles out, and the door slams shut, instantly cutting off any sound again.

“Cissy,” Juin says softly, her voice too loud and sharp in the silence, and Narcissa snaps her head up.

“Mendonica,” she says stiffly, and Juin narrows her eyes slightly at the formal response.

“You’ve been ignoring my letters,” Juin says slowly, looking over the Omega woman. Narcissa is wearing a simple black, floor length dress, long sleeves nearly swallowing her hands. Hands that are shifting ever so slightly.

“I was not aware that I had to open all the mail I receive,” Narcissa drawls, folding her hands in front of her, holding her ground as Juin stops half a meter in front of her.

“You’re evading. Why?” Juin cuts right to the chase, and Narcissa’s eye twitches indiscernibly

“If you must know, I grew weary of your constant owls, blathering on about something or other,” the Omega woman drawls, her cold tone matching her neutral expression. Juin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed at the subtle dismissal.

“Liar.”

Narcissa’s eyes widen in anger at the obvious accusation, but she recovers quickly.

“Am I?”

“Yes, _Cissy_. In fact I think I can smell the bullshit spewing from your mouth,” Juin says with a mean edge to her voice. Narcissa lip curls at the foul language.

“Must you be so crude? It is not befitting of a woman of your station.”

Juin shrugs, staring down at Narcissa with a hard gaze.

“I’ll be as fucking crude as I bloody well please, although I doubt my choice of words is what you’re really bothered about,” Juin says, and she takes another step into Narcissa’s space.

“Is Lucius threatening you again?”

Narcissa blinks at the question, then a sneer spreads across her lips.

“Lucius? _Lucius?_ You really think that I’d be cowed by that weak Alpha?”

“You tell me, because it seems to me that someone else made you cut contact with me,” Juin replies, and Narcissa scowls at her.

“Alphas always have a superiority complex, don’t they? Not everything in the world revolves around you,” Narcissa growls, her fingers twitching. Juin sneers at the Omega woman’s words.

“Does that rile you?”

“Are you trying to provoke me into revealing what you want to hear?”

“Is it working?”

“ _No,_ ” Narcissa’s curt snarl tells Juin otherwise.

“You see, Cissy,” the Veela Alpha uses the nickname nonchalantly, and it makes the Omega woman stiffen with annoyance.

“Every magical being releases magical residue, like how Muggles shed dead skin particles; Elise told me about that,” Juin drawls, gesticulating calmly.

“I am an educated woman, Mendonica. I am aware of such knowledge,” Narcissa says sharply, as if a slight to her intelligence is the worst offense that Juin could have told her.

“Then, you _must_ know about how Veelas factor into the situation,” Juin says mockingly, and Narcissa bares a hint of her teeth.

“I _do_ have a superior complex—not only because I’m an Alpha—but because as a Veela, I am genetically more advanced than you Wizarding folk, which leads me to my point: _I can smell my Maman’s magic on your hands._ ”

Narcissa gasps as Juin’s hand darts forwards, and snatches her wrist, holding the limb up between their faces.

“What did she do, Cissy?” Juin asks firmly, her serious expression at odds with Narcissa’s terrified one.

“I—I can’t—she’ll—”

The same door Narcissa exited from interrupts the Omega woman’s stuttering, and a group of men stumble out, all laughing drunkenly.

“ _YOU!_ ” A man roars throatily, and a tall blond pushes himself to the front of the now silent group.

“You fucking _whore_ . . . Cheating on _me_ with-with-with—a filthy _BEAST!_ ” Lucius howls, and he takes a wobbly step forwards, drawing his wand.

“I’ll kill you . . . Blast off your _head_ . . . Stick it on my wall as a _trophy!_ ”

“But isn’t her head already blasted?” Another man snickers, and Lucius snarls wordlessly at him.

“Cissy, get behind me,” Juin orders quietly, her eyes shifting into a purple-green color. Narcissa doesn’t argue, and the pair slowly start to maneuver into their places, but Lucius notices.

“ _OI!_ BITCH! YOU REALLY THINK YOU WANT TAH _CLAIM_ THAT _SLUT?_ SHE’S A WORTHLESS, _BARRON_ , PIECE OF—”

Juin lets out an enraged howl, and in a span of a breath, she shifts into her True-Veela form.

“Juin!” Narcissa screams in shock, reaching out to grab the Veela Alpha, but she’s too slow. Juin’s hurtling herself at Lucius, Cursed Fire racing up her body as she plows into the group.

— . —

 _Aculeus_ = Stinging Jinx (Latin: Sting)


	7. Blood Rain Of 1982

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final events of the Mendonica past unfold . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is rape in this chapter.
> 
> Also, I just uploaded Hermione’s Paternal family tree on my Companion Oneshot series to VOC

Narcissa takes a step back as the screams start, and she covers her mouth to muffle the terrified whimpers for her friend. Despite being outnumbered ten to one, Lucius’ group are no match for the enraged Veela Alpha. It’s like watching plump mice trying to fight against the seasoned feral cat.

Lucius roars as Juin slices deep into his arm, blood spurting high into the air, but the Veela Alpha doesn’t go for the kill, no, instead she toys with her prey.

“GAAHH!”

Narcissa flinches, snapping her eyes shut before she can see the savage image, but the scene of a man’s head flying off his shoulders accompanied by a torrent of blood is ingrained into her mind.

“I’m not risking my life for you!” One of Lucius’ companions snarls, and he Disapparates right as Juin launches herself at him.

“NO! GET BACK HERE ROOKWOOD!” Lucius roars furiously as more of his companions Disapparate away, and it startles a deep seated fear in Narcissa, one that she thought that she pushed down.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” She shouts, and her Red Fox leaps gracefully from her wand. Immediately it races away to find help without being commanded to for Narcissa’s intent when casting was so strong, it already knew what it had to do.

A heavy silence descends upon the street, and only Lucius, Juin, and Narcissa are left. The Alpha man is heaving, blood dripping from him, and a twisted snarl adorns his face. He’s favoring his left leg, gripping his wand tightly as he keeps it aimed at Juin’s heart. The Veela Alpha, on the other hand, is completely unharmed except for a few singed feathers, and also the fact that every part of her body is splattered in blood.

“You . . . Bitch . . . You’ll pay . . . For this . . .” Lucius growls, and Juin flexes her wings.

“Prey,” the Veela Alpha rumbles, and she slowly starts to stalk forwards.

* * *

Narcissa isn’t sure when she notices it; as her eyes are glued to Juin prowling towards Lucius; but her skin prickles with an heightened awareness of something . . . Or someone . . . Staring at her. Her inner Omega hunkers down in her, and Narcissa keeps herself very, very still.

Her heart pounds faster, and she slowly glances around the street, trying to pinpoint the watcher. A quick glance back at Juin and Lucius circling each other tells Narcissa that the two Alpha’s are completely unaware of what’s stalking them.

“Juin,” she whispers so quietly that she almost doesn’t even hear herself. The Veela Alpha doesn’t hear her, and Narcissa swallows nervously.

“Juin,” she says a little louder, taking a single step forwards—

—the world flips upside down, and Narcissa lets out a shrill scream as she’s suddenly weightless. The Omega woman flails as the wind whistles in her ears, and her body falls through the sky. A bird screeches right next to her, and an answering screech sounds somewhere around her.

Suddenly, Narcissa is snatched out of her fall abruptly, making her gasp and nearly throw up at the whiplash. A strong arm is wrapped around her torso, and she realizes she hears the sounds of wings. Relief floods through her, and she turns around, a smile on her face, but fear shoots through her once more.

The Veela holding her is not her Juin, she’s not even sure it’s even a Veela, for she’s never heard of any male Veela. Nonetheless, a male version of Juin is gripping her tightly—too tight in fact. Narcissa tries to keep her emotions under control, but she can’t help her bodily reactions.

The male Veela sniffs her as her fearful Omega pheromones waft off her, and his eyes dilate.

“JOHN!”

Narcissa and the male Veela both jerk their heads towards the roar, and Narcissa shrieks as Juin plows into them. All three of them tumble through the air, and Narcissa scrambles for something sturdy to hold. The male Veela, John, manages to land a solid kick at Juin, pushing the Veela Alpha off him.

Both Veela are snarling, but not a verbal word passes between them, and Narcissa instantly realizes that they’re communicating in the mental Veela language. However, she can feel the tension rising off both Veela, and the arm around her tightens around her painfully.

“ **Let her go!** ” Juin finally snarls out loud in French, and John hisses fiercely.

“ **NO! _MINE!_** ” He snarls, and his whole body bursts on Cursed Fire. Narcissa lets out a scream as the flames engulf her, and she loses her hearing as she’s suddenly weightless again. The scorching pain only lasts for a second, searing her nerves, but then it’s gone. All that’s left is the startling cold numbness and the queer feeling of wind on numb skin.

Narcissa can only see the calm, grey sky above her as she seemingly floats down, her dress billowing around her body. A strange drowsiness starts to creep up on her, and Narcissa wonders why she should bother keeping her eyes open. She’s hardly aware of controlling hands grabbing her, her touch receptors in her skin not sending the signals to her brain.

Narcissa’s eyes start to close, although a little peak of awareness spears through the fog in her mind when her body registers a tight pressure at her hips. Her body starts to rock without her moving herself, and her Omega instincts start screaming at her to run. A harsh slam pushes her body against the cobblestone street, and Narcissa’s eyes snap open as fangs shred the flesh at her throat.

* * *

“If you frown any longer, that crinkle isn’t going to go away,” a Beta woman chuckles to Elise.

“Alice,” the Omega woman sighs, but Beta Alice Longbottom just shrugs.

“I’m just saying, your wife has been gone for, how long did you say?” The Auror asks, and Elise fiddles with the handle of the bag containing her dress.

“Almost fifteen minutes now,” Elise grumbles.

“Yeah—so can we get ice cream now? I wager we can dip in Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor for a few minutes and come back with loads of time to spare,” Alice says, and Elise rolls her eyes playfully.

“I can’t, Juin would get worried if she came back and I wasn’t here—and aren’t you supposed to be on patrol now?”

The Beta woman smirks at her, and waves her hand nonchalantly.

“Eh, most of the Aurors on Diagon Alley shift, ditch to go shopping,” Alice says, and Elise elbows her.

“Leaving all the danger for Frank? How un-Gryffindor of you,” she teases, and Alice presses her hand to her heart in mock outrage.

“Why, I’ll have you know Mrs. Mendonica—”

Whatever Alice was about to say is cut off when a silvery Red Fox runs through the wall and bounds to a halt in front of Elise, barking madly.

“Whose’s Patronus is that?” Alice demands, her entire demeanor turning serious. Elise stares widely at the barking Patronus, shaking her head in confusion. The noise is drawing attention from the customers in the shop, and Alice draws her wand, looking around.

“What’s wro—woah!” Elise yelps as the Red Fox Patronus leaps at her, its form materializing into a harder substance, and it grabs her sleeve before tearing away in a sprint.

“After it!” Alice orders, grabbing Elise’s wrist and they’re running after the Red Fox. The Alley’s bustling street that is a sight to see becomes an obstacle, and Alice and Elise almost lose the Patronus a couple of times before the crowds thin. Skidding to a stop, they watch the Red Fox Patronus loping through the entrance to Knockturn Alley.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Alice casts, and her White Hare Patronus springs into existence.

“Frank get here quickly! Bring back up!” The Beta woman orders, and the Hare Patronus bounds away, carrying her message.

“I need to tell Juin where I am,” Elise says in a high, shaky voice as she reaches for her wand.

“No time, someone needs our help,” Alice says, and she takes off in a sprint. A beat of hesitation later, Elise dumps her things and races after the Auror.

* * *

The startling thing that Elise notices right away is that the normally shady occupants of the beginning of Knockturn Alley are suspiciously absent.

“Alice, no one’s here!” She gasps between huge lungfuls of air, barely keeping up with the much fitter Auror.

“I know,” the Beta woman growls, and she picks up the pace. That’s when they hear two piercing bird screams.

“The hell?” Alice gasps, almost tripping as two large shadows dart over them.

“Juin,” Elise whispers in horror, and Alice snaps her head towards the Omega woman.

“What?”

“It’s Juin!” The Omega woman shouts, and the two women round the corner.

“Shit! _Diffindo!_ ” Alice roars, aiming at the Veela crouching over a prone woman. The Veela snaps up her head at the last minute, and the _Charm_ only cuts a deep gash through her shoulder. The Veela roars, rearing up, and Elise’s jaw drops. Through the talon shaped slashes through the Veela’s shirt, the Omega woman sees a male body.

Suddenly, another Veela slams down behind the male Veela, grips the male Veela’s wing, and throws him into the sky.

“J-Juin?” Elise says in a small voice, and the feral Veela Alpha looks up at them with purple-green eyes.

“Stay back Elise,” Alice says, throwing an arm to block Elise from approaching. Juin growls, her eyes narrowing, and the Omega woman’s eyes widen.

“Wait, Alice, back up, back up!”

“What? Why?” Alice says, taking a step in front of Elise to shield her, but it sets off a switch in Juin. In a blink of an eye, Alice is thrown down the street, and the Veela Alpha pounces on her.

“JUIN!” Elise screams, but a weak gurgle catches her attention. Gasping in horror, Elise throws herself onto her knees next to Narcissa.

“No no no no no,” the Omega woman whimpers as she tries to staunch the steady flow of blood pouring out of the older Omega woman’s torn neck.

“You’re going to be okay, Cissy, you’re going to be okay,” Elise flinches when a bit of blood spurts out onto her cheek, and she glances at Narcissa’s fading eyes. She looks up when she hears Alice scream, but another gurgle from the older Omega woman grabs her attention.

“Narcissa! Don’t die on me!” Elise’s hand brushes against her wand, lying in the older Omega woman’s blood forgotten.

“Magic! Yes! Oh Merlin!” Elise snatches up her wand with bloody hands and tries to aim it at Narcissa’s throat, but her hand is shaking too much.

“ _E-Episkey!_ ”

The skin starts to heal over the wound, but not healing it. Elise takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm her nerves, and she grips her wrist to steady her hand.

“ _Episkey Maxima!_ ” She shouts, and Elise gasps as the wound instantly starts to knit itself back together.

“Yes! _Episkey Maxima! Episkey Maxima! Ep—_ ” Elise’s chant is interrupted by a furious war cry. A spell blasts right over her, and she screams, ducking awkwardly over Narcissa. An answering roar sounds, and Elise looks up to Juin launching herself at Alpha Frank Longbottom.

“NO! JUIN! STOP IT!” She screams, but it’s too late, the Veela Alpha brutally rips off Frank’s right arm. His wand arm.

“E . . . . . . Li . . . . . . Sss.”

Elise snaps her head down to Narcissa, whose eyes are barely open.

“Shhh, don’t speak, you’ll damage your throat even more,” Elise tries to say in a soothing voice, and the older Omega woman nods subtly.

“CONTAIN THE VEELA!” A commanding bellow sounds, and Elise looks up to see Alpha Bellatrix Black and a full squad of Aurors race towards them. Bellatrix immediately zeros on Elise, and a murderous expression settles on the Alpha woman’s features. Elise cowers from her, and she doesn’t resist as she’s cuffed and a sack is shoved over her head.

She’s limp as someone Side-Apparates her to another place, and then another, and another, and then finally, she’s in a boat. The sack is removed from her head, and Elise faints when she sees the looming prison of Azkaban.

* * *

Contrary to what her children believe, Etoilnaiphas is _always_ aware of what goes on in her house. _Especially_ when it concerns her disgusting, third offspring. So, it comes as no surprise to her when the Mendonica Palace alerts Etoilnaiphas that her rebellious daughter freed her foul offspring. Etoilnaiphas sets down her quill on her desk, and scowls out the window of her office.

The Crypts; which always hanging over her shoulder, waiting for a moment of weakness from her; looms closer to her ear. It speaks in its strange, otherworldly tongue, but Etoilnaiphas knows the language well.

»Wait,« she tells it, and the Crypts seems to vibrate with excitement. It’s frequency makes her right side of her face twitch madly under her mask, and Etoilnaiphas clenches her hand into a fist, roughly pushing the Crypts’ magic away from her. It grumbles an empty warning at her, but the Veela Alfā doesn’t care.

It is bound to serve her, shackled with the strongest, unseen chains in existence.

Placing a hand on her desk, the bone ripples like when a stone is tossed into a deep pond. Then, in the epicenter of the ripple, a small, palm-size glass shard emerges. The Crypts quiets itself, watching with keen eyes as Etoilnaiphas beckons her fingers, coaxing the shard closer to her.

»Show me,« the Veela Alfā commands coldly, and the shard hovers over her fingers, slowly sinking down onto her flesh. Etoilnaiphas doesn’t flinch as the shard breaks her skin, and a single droplet of her sacred blood wells up into the glass. The shard stays fixed on her finger, sucking her blood into smoky wisps inside the planes of glass, forming images.

Etoilnaiphas narrows her eye as the events unfold, and her attention lingers on her offspring’s first victim. Fortunately, she hadn’t been eaten, or she would have an international issue on her hands. Etoilnaiphas drums her other hand on her desk in contemplation. She’ll have to reward Elise for sparing her from that headache, perhaps a ticket out of Azkaban should do the trick.

Pulling her finger away from the shard, the images fade instantly, and it falls into her hand completely drained. Etoilnaiphas puts it back in its resting place, and stands, watching as her body heals the small pinprick on her finger. The Crypts edges closer, inquiring again.

»Bring them home.«

No sooner does the words form in her mind, and the Crypts rockets out of the Mendonica Palace, howling with a manic glee as it begins its hunt. The Veela Alfā half wishes she could accompany the Crypts, but she steels herself for the annoying British Ministry she must put face.

Upon entering the British Ministry,Etoilnaiphas finds chaos. The commoners scurry around with no destination in mind, and the higher officials scream at each other like bloated pufferfish. Stalking her way up the Ministry’s brain, the Veela Alfā ignores the useless guards, and enters the Minister’s office in no time.

The youngest British Minister in history looks up with slight surprise as she shuts his door with a click.

“Zhall I pour uz a cup of tea?” Etoilnaiphas asks, and Minister Riddle raises an eyebrow.

“By all means, Madame Mendonica, please do,” he replies, standing up from his desk as he waves his hands in motion like a waiter bowing. It’s Etoilnaiphas’ turn to raise her eyebrow. She doesn’t know where the Alpha man learned the traditional Veela greeting, but she’s pleased that he does.

Through their talk, Eotilnaiphas manages to wring an agreement out of the slippery Wizard. In exchange for not putting a hit on her daughter and only assigning an _persona non grata_ in Britain for her, Etoilnaiphas will pay for the Longbottom’s and one Omega Narcissa Malfoy’s treatments at St. Mungos for as long as they need it.

“Now, about Omega Elise Mendonica,” Minister Riddle says, taking a sip of his tea.

“Hm, zhe iz currently in Azkaban, no?” Etoilnaiphas drawls, and the Alpha man nods.

“Quite. The _Daily Prophet_ already got wind of that particular story. I suppose you want her free?”

“I’m in no hurry, although it iz more convient if zhe iz back home zafe and zound,” Etoilnaiphas replies.

“I thought as much, which is why my Aurors will escort her to the border of France, where she shall be free to do whatever she pleases. However, I should warn you, the Holyhead Harpies have already filed to have her removed from the team.”

“That iz not an izzue,” Etoilnaiphas dismisses.

“That may be for you, but she still has a fair amount of loyal fans that have made a ruckus about her early retirement, so I have decided to appoint Elise as the Senior Quidditch Correspondent for the _Daily Prophet_ ,” Minister Riddle says neutrally, and Etoilnaiphas tilts her head.

“Oh?”

“I do not require any coin from you for Elise’s new station, simply, I ask you to come over for tea when the days get long.”

Etoilnaiphas stares at Minister Riddle in the eyes, a blank expression on her face as she tries to decipher what the Alpha man wants. He keeps up a small, polite smile throughout her stare, and it grows a little when she dips her head in acquiescence. Wrapping up the impromptu meeting, Etoilnaiphas left the Ministry as easily as she entered it.

Teleporting back to the Mendonica Palace, the Veela Alfā let the Crypts pull her down into its bowels where it held her daughter and her offspring. The Crypts had already punished both of them, her offspring more severely, and it told her of the atrocities her offspring committed. Sneering at the waste of her own flesh and blood, Etoilnaiphas hauls her daughter up to her feet by her True-Form wings.

There is no more room for error when it concerns the unnatural abomination that she had sired.

»Kill the male Veela.«

Etoilnaiphas doesn’t wait to hear her daughter’s reply, and she teleports to St. Mungos, performs a small ritual on the Malfoy woman so the future child won’t inherit any of the Mendonica genes. She’s never actually done it, so she doesn’t know how long the offspring’s seed will stay lodged in Malfoy’s womb, stagnant while it changes.

Locking down the Mendonica Palace, it’s easy for Etoilnaiphas to alter Vicencta and Vyvian’s memories of what really happened, planting the false memories of what plausibly could have happened. Vyvian, Etoilniaphas knew, would try to push past the memory and see the good in her, as the Veela Alpha has always done.

For Vicencta, her breeding partner, her wife, Etoilnaiphas knows that this will be the final thread that will cut them apart. She knew they had started to drift away from each other, and this way, Etoilnaiphas can be the villain Vicencta always suspected she was.

It takes only a week for Vicencta and Vyvian to move out of the Mendonica Palace to look for Juin, Souci to cut off the tentative correspondence she had with Etoilnaiphas, and for Juin to finally kill her brother.

* * *

Présage slams flat onto her back, knocking the breath out of her. Gasping, she barely has enough awareness to jerk her head to the side where the clock she dropped lands hazardously too close to her face for her liking. Sitting up is a chore, for her stiff body feels like it’s been lying in one position for too long.

But in reality, hardly any time has passed since Magick sent her through her Family’s past. Blinking rapidly, Présage’s heart races as the events keep playing again and again in her mind. Her chest constricts, and silent tears begin to fall as Présage realizes that her whole life is a lie.

— . —

_Expecto Patronum_ = Patronus Charm 2x

_Diffindo!_ = Severing Charm

_Episkey_ = Healing Spell

_Episkey Maxima_ = Maximum Healing Spell 3x


	8. Stairs To Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Hermione and Présage meet face to face!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a part of this chapter that the text will be on both the left and right sides,
> 
> Preferably, you should read it starting on the left, then right, then left, and so on,
> 
> However, you can also read all of the left and then all of the right, although the order is a little more vague that way.
> 
> You choose! 🙃

Hermione opens her eyes to a world of inky darkness. Looking around, she can’t see anything past her hands. A weird feeling of being trapped rankles along her skin, and she tries to recall how she got in this place. A brief flash of the memory of falling fills her head, and then slips away from her.

“Hello?”

Her voice echoes out into the darkness, and Hermione’s surprised about how far she can hear the sound of her voice traveling.

“Helloooo,” Hermione calls out lazily, and she takes a step forward. However, since everything around her is the same depth, she can’t tell if she’s moving or just walking in place.

_Hello?! Who are you?!_

Hermione jolts when she hears a distant, quivering male voice in her leftward direction. It sounds oddly familiar, but she can’t place it.

“I’m Mia, who are you?” Hermione replies, heading towards that, hoping the voice will reply.

_Mia?! We don’t know a Mia?! Do we?!_

The voice shrieks, and it sounds closer than before.

_Oh shut your gob before I do it for you!_

Hermione halts herself the instant the second male voice snarls at the first.

_Y-y-y-you can’t s-s-s-speak to me l-l-l-like that! A-A-A-Amélie will—_

_Amélie doesn’t scare me, and furthermore,_ Quirrell _, Amélie isn’t here right now,_ Alpha Lucius Malfoy growls darkly, and Hermione’s jaw drops.

“You’re both dead,” she whispers, and the voices shut up.

_You._

Both voices say in a monotone, and suddenly, two blinking spheres of light appear in front of her.

_So the prodigal murderess returns,_ the larger light to the right sneers in Lucius’ voice. The wisps of light coming off his sphere are long and oily looking, and it reminds Hermione of his long hair.

“How are you here?” Hermione demands, and the Malfoy-light hisses angrily.

_Oh, rub salt into the wound, why don’t you?_

“Where are we?” Hermione orders, turning to the Omega Quirinus Quirrell-light, and it shrinks away from her. His wisps of light are short and curled, and constantly twitching.

_D-d-d-don’t hurt m-m-me—EEEEY!_

Another light, one with rough, ragged wisps off light coming of it, appears behind the Quirrell-light, and the new one viciously takes a bite of the Quirrell-light.

_I can smell the weakness coming off you still, little Omega,_ the light of Beta Mark Clearwind of Greyback snickers.

_Oh Mark! You’re so right, he’s so weak!_

The smallest light among the rest blinks into existence next to Clearwind’s.

“Pettigrew,” Hermione growls, and the small light, completely bald of any wisps of light, squeaks in fear and cowers behind Clearwind’s.

_Oh? You’re not Amélie,_ the Clearwind-light says coldly, and all the lights start to circle around Hermione.

_I say we kill her, Lucius, like how she killed us. I bet Amélie would be pleased,_ the Clearwind-light says oily, and the Malfoy-light growls.

_I quite like that idea,_ the Lucius-light says, and Hermione narrows her eyes.

“Who’s Amélie?” She asks warily, and the Pettigrew-light pulses proudly.

_She’s the one who brought us here!_

_Shut up!_ Clearwind-light roars, and suddenly an answering, ear shattering roar startles all of them.

_It’s the Killer!_ Pettigrew-light screams in a shrill voice.

_Let’s go Malfoy!_ The Clearwind-light pushes into the Malfoy-light, shoulder checking Hermione as they fly by.

_I can take it! I can!_ The Malfoy-light howls.

_I d-d-don’t want to d-d-d-die again!_ The Quirrell-light screams, and soon all the lights shoot away. Hermione widens her stance, tensing as she readies herself for the next dead thing that’s coming her way. Her mind flashes back to her very first year at Hogwarts, and blacking out when she encountered the Werewolf Killer.

The moment she exhales a nervous breath, her body is backlit by an enormous, black light. A deep, wet, guttural breathing heats up the back of Hermione’s neck, and she tenses up at the malevolent aura pouring onto her.

_Live . . . Meat?_

Hermione lights herself on Cursed Fire, and the red light lets out a surprised snarl as it cowers away from her.

“You wish,” she whirls around, raising her hand, encased in a sphere of Cursed Fire, threateningly. The huge red light towers over her, its large, bulky wisps of light flowing wildly of it thrashes, and it growls uncertainly at her.

_No . . . Meat?_ The thunder rumbling voice asks, and Hermione tilts her head at it’s betrayed tone. The dark aura she originally felt is receding, and Hermione gets the weird sensation she’s addressing a large, semi-tamed pet. Slowly lowering her hand, the red light seems to perk up when it sees her face.

_Meat . . . Ride?_

The hopeful tone catches Hermione off guard, and she quenches her Cursed Fire.

“. . . Ride?” She says warily, and the Killer-light starts bouncing closer to her, making her raise her hand up again. She has mixed feelings about whether or not the Killer-light can be trusted.

_Meat! . . .Ride! . . . Amélie! . . .Ride!_

“Amélie? Can you take me to her?” Hermione asks, and the Killer-light pulsates brightly. She assumes that means it’s happy.

_Amélie! . . . Ride!_

Before Hermione can even contemplate how she can physically try to hold onto the Killer-light, it rushes at her, the wisps of light sweeping her up in a thick embrace as it flies through the darkness leaving a trail of red afterglow.

* * *

Hours, days, who knows how long time seems to pass in the darkness of the new world that Hermione’s found herself in. However, the Killer-light seems to know where to go, and it doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. Trying to relax as much as she can, Hermione tries to recall how she killed the Werewolf Killer, but her mind draws up a blank.

A jolt of bitterness sours her mouth when she realizes that the gap in her memories could have been Présage taking over her body.

_Meat . . . Unhappy?_

Hermione blinks at the question, and she feels a tinge of regret for killing a clearly misunderstood creature.

_Too . . . Slow?_

“What? Wait, hol—”

_Bartholomew . . . FAST!_

Hermione didn’t realize how steady the Werewolf Killer—Bartholomew—was going until suddenly they’re _zooming_ at a breakneck velocity. Even with her hair whipping around her face, Hermione can definitely tell the oppressive darkness is giving way to a more grey gloominess. By the time she can manage to grab her hair out and hold it out the way, they’re in a world of harsh white.

“Bartholomew! Slow down!”

_Amélie! . . . Close!_

The energetic the red light exclaims, not skipping a beat.

“Great,” Hermione mutters, and suddenly, Bartholomew leaps, or at least she thinks he “leaps”, for the heavy vibrations of his running elongates. Then, the second he “lands”, an endless sheet of reflective water spreads out underneath them like thousands of spiderweb cracks shattering a mirror. The white sky clots and separates into thousands of fluffy clouds revealing millions of stars.

“Where are we?” Hermione asks, and Bartholomew shakes himself contently.

_Amélie,_ he says, and starts to trot onwards.

“Amélie is a place?”

_Amélie . . . Amélie?_

Apparently Bartholomew can’t grasp certain complexities of human speech. So, Hermione opts for silence as she lets the red light carry her to the unknown. Eventually, Hermione spots something in the distant horizon, something that is totally at odds at the reflective planes around it.

_Amélie!_

Bartholomew picks up his pace, and soon, a massive tree-of-trees looms high over them. The red light finally releases Hermione, and she carefully jumps down to the flat water below. She doesn’t know what to expect, but landing without a single splash is comforting, although small ripples appear from the impact of her landing.

“Um, hi, Amélie,” Hermione says to the tree, and Bartholomew bows to the tree.

_Sire!_

He calls out, and Hermione hears a rustling of a great number of leaves above them.

_Amélie? Are you back already?_

Hermione gasps at the woman’s voice, and an elegant sphere of light floats down on wisps of light shaped like feathers. The light freezes when it sees Hermione, and suddenly there’s a flash of deep-magenta, and in the place of the sphere, is a glowing woman. Pain like a stake being shoved through her brain nearly splits her skull, and Hermione crashes to her knees.

She hears the concerned chuffing of Bartholomew over her, but her mind concentrates on the sudden feeling of warm hands wrapping her in a tight, loving hug.

_Oh my sweet girl, I’m here, you can remember now, you’re safe here,_ the woman croons in her achingly soothing voice. Hermione lets out a choking cough, and the woman starts stroking her hair, and it settles her body, bring forth a surge of melancholy.

“W-w-who are you? Why do I feel like I know you?!” Hermione pants in a raggedly, and Bartholomew whines pitifully.

_Hermione, look at me, please?_

Hermione obeys, and slowly, she lifts her head to behold the face that she had forgotten. The woman smiles gently, and it’s Hermione’s gentle smile. Soft brown eyes lock with Hermione’s changed ones, and the woman cups Hermione’s cheeks.

_Do you remember me?_

The woman asks, and Hermione finally does.

“Mum?”

* * *

Présage whips away her tears, flicking the fat droplets away from her, but they still keep falling. Her heart feels hollow, and she wraps her wings around her body. A prick of something twinges in her mind, and Présage straightens instinctively.

Hermione’s awake.

Instantly, she scopes through her mind, talons ready to shove Hermione back under, but it’s too late, Bartholomew has already spirited her into a place where Présage dare not meddle with. Gritting her teeth, she finds a safe place behind a few tall clocks to conceal herself, and she prepares herself.

Grounding herself firmly, Présage dives deeply into her mind.

* * *

“Why—how are you here?” Hermione whispers, and Alpha Jean Granger née Mendonica strokes Hermione’s hair. It makes no logical sense. All the spirits she’s seen so far are those she’s killed, so how does her Mum fit into that category? Bartholomew prances around them happily before trotting up to the tree-of-trees and up it’s trunk into the foliage.

_I’ll tell you, my dear, but first we should wait for your sister,_ her Mum says with a playful wink, and Hermione blinks at her Mum inquisitively.

“Sister? Do you mean Juin or Souci?” Hermione asks, and her Mum just smiles mysteriously.

_You’ll find out._

Hermione opens her mouth to ask more questions, and that’s when she feels a rush of wind at her back. She doesn’t have to look up to know who’s behind her.

“What is _she_ doing here, Jean?”

Hermione jerks at the sound of her own angry voice.

_Amélie, what have I said about your lack of manners?_ Her Mum says sharply, and Hermione gasps.Whirling around, she looks up at Présage, and she finally sees what her True-Veela form looks like.

“Wait—Amélie? _You’re_ Amélie that brought those spirits back?” Hermione says, and she and her Mum stand up. Présage—Amélie—or whatever she’s calling herself—sneers down at Hermione.

“What’s the big deal, _sister?_ Mad that I wasn’t isolated like you wanted?”

Hermione scowls, glaring at Présage.

“We’re not sisters,” Hermione growls.

“Of course not, you’re just a piece of dead weight I have to lug around,” Présage smirks.

“My, with that attitude, it’s no wonder that Eto didn’t pull you from me more often,” Hermione drawls with a mean glint in her eye. The Veela Alfā bristles, her feathers fluffing angrily.

“Why you—”

_Girls!_

Hermione and Présage flinch from the sharp shout from her Mum, and the spirit crosses her arms.

_If you two are done sniping at each other, I’d like to show you two something,_ her Mum says annoyedly, tapping her foot as she looks crossly up at them.

“Sorry,” they mutter, glaring at each other.

_Here,_ Hermione’s Mum says, offering her hands out to them, and Hermione and Présage both take one hand respectively. Together, they start walking to the tree-of-trees. The closer they get, the more Présage tenses up, and Hermione glances at the Veela Alfā in the corner of her eye.

“What?” Présage snaps, sensing Hermione’s gaze. They stop at the huge base of the tree-of-trees, and her Mum lets go of their hands to place hers on the bark.

“Where did you even spawn from?” Hermione asks,

Présage snarls wordlessly at the question, and before Hermione can duck, a fast wing nearly dislocates her arm. Hermione hisses loudly, her body erupting in Cursed Fire, and Présage lets out an answering hiss.

Suddenly two large wings cuff their heads, and Hermione and Présage freeze.

_I thought I told you two to behave,_ Hermione Mum’s curt voice makes both of them look away from each other. Hermione hears the irritated ruffle of wings folding, and she glances up, seeing solid, bright-green wings.

_In order to continue further, you two need to understand a fundamental fact about you both,_ her Mum says with a pointed look at Présage. Hermione narrows her eyes, wariness tickling down her spine when the Veela Alfā grimaces.

“I don’t have to. I can simply make her forget everything like usual,” Présage says.

“You can certainly try,” Hermione growls.

_You could, but then we’d never progress any further in your healing,_ her Mum replies, ignoring Hermione’s growl.

“Hey! What are you two talking about?” Hermione demands, and Présage snaps her teeth at her.

“Shut it, can’t you see Jean and I are talking?”

“About me—”

_Amélie, please, this could be your only chance,_ her Mum says gently, and Hermione simmers silently, mentally grumbling but highly aware that something important is occuring. Présage snarls under her breath, and jerks her head away from them.

“What is it? What are you scared of?” Hermione asks, and Présage whirls around with a low grumble.

“I’m not afraid of anything!”

“Liar—” Hermione starts to say, but Présage lunges at her. Hermione’s hands raise up, Cursed Fire bursting into existence, but Présage’s hands grasp Hermione’s temples. Instantly, she’s bombarded with memories of the past, her family’s past. The second Présage releases Hermione, she stumbles back, panting for air.

Everything seems to be tilted on its axis, and she stares at Présage, her body squatter, her twin that Eto tried to do something with.

“What . . . Wait . . . By Rozanica . . . Draco’s my _nephew_ ,” Hermione gasps, and Présage scoffs.

“Out of everything, that’s the only thing you latch onto? He’s the heir of a monster!”

_While Draco’s lineage might be tainted, he has no traits of a male Veela,_ her Mum says carefully, and Hermione realizes that her Mum holds the same disgust for male Veela.

“That doesn’t mean that he has some benign traits!” Présage argues.

“What about Narcissa? Do you hate her too?” Hermione asks, and Présage wrinkles her nose.

“Just the usual amount for a lower House.”

“You do realize that I’m part of that ‘lower House’,” Hermione says.

“All the more reason to hate it,” Présage snickers, and Hermione’s Mum steps between them before Hermione can do anything.

_Alright, let’s climb the Tree before it decides we’ve overstayed our welcome,_ her Mum says, and she starts climbing.

“Why doesn’t she fly up?” Hermione mutters to herself, and Présage snorts.

“Don’t you know anything? You can’t just fly in here, it’s _sacred_.”

“Pray, enlighten me with your most knowledgeable thoughts, where and what is _here?_ ” Hermione snarks back, and Présage smirks.

“You’re prettier when you beg,” and with that she starts climbing. Hermione scowls harshly, grasping hold of the bark of the tree-of-trees, and starts to haul her body up.

* * *

After what feels like a few minutes of climbing, Hermione blinks, and realizes that she’s already in the midst of the thicket of leaves.

“Mum?” Hermione looks down, expecting to see the trunk, but to her shock and unease, she can’t see through the jungle of branches flowing down as far as she can see.

“Mum? Bartholomew?” Hermione calls out again, but her voice doesn’t carry, and Hermione realizes she’s alone.

“Présage?” She mutters, but there’s no reply. The only cause for this situation is magic, but Hermione has no idea why the tree-of-trees would separate her from her Mum and Présage.

Well, she knows why it would for her and the Veela Alfā. Her twin. Hermione leans against the trunk as her thoughts turn to Présage. From what she saw, Présage was dying the moment she was conceived, her frail body already half across Death’s doorstep.

But Hermione had done something when Eto had raised her hand to Présage’s head, something she didn’t even know was magically possible. A dark thought overcomes her, and Hermione shivers, placing a hand on the bark of the trunk to ground her.

“What if Eto only kept me around because she knew that Présage was inside me?”

* * *

Présage resists the urge to look down to see how far Hermione’s climbed. Instead, she keeps her gaze directed up, trying to follow the light from Jean’s spirit. Finally, she can’t take it anymore, and she peeks a glance down, and gasps. Hermione’s gone, and instead, a ring of branches form a makeshift platform under her.

“What in Rozanica’s name?” Présage mutters, halting herself. She knew this tree was beyond strange, but she didn’t know it could do this. Carefully, she drops down to the makeshift platform, spreading her wings to balance herself.

“Er, Jean?” She calls out, but the spirit is gone.

“Some help you are,” Présage retorts, and she peers over the edge of the platform. A sense of vertigo overwhelms her as she stares at the watery-ground far, far, far below. She gulps, and leans back, taking a calming breath. Turning around, she kneels and places her hands on the bark.

“Well, Tree, what does my soul guide want me to know?”

* * *

She stills when she hears a whisper of a question right by her ear.

“Can you say that again louder?” She whispers, straining her ears for a reply.

_. . . Broken . . ._

“What? Broken?”

_. . . Half of a life . . ._

“Yeah, I already knew that Tree.”

_. . . Death . . ._

“Huh? Death is broken?”

_. . . Lives . . ._

“Make up your mind. I either have half a life or have many lives like a cat.”

_. . . Bond with Him . . ._

“Do I do it, or have it?”

_. . . Join your soul whole . . ._

“. . . Are you talking about my Twin-Bond?”

_. . . Protect her as you have . . ._

“Who? Présage?”

_. . . Alone, you are weak . . ._

“I’m not weak, I’m not.”

_. . . Together, you are strong . . ._

“With Présage? The only thing she’s done is take over my body!”

_. . . Heed the summons of The Eternal Heart Death . . ._

“The Fates? I thought they couldn’t meddle with mortal affairs directly . . . Right?”

_. . . Beware, His Claim calls to those willing to listen . . ._

“His Claim . . . Do you mean Présage was Claimed by Death? Is that why Eto wanted her?”

_. . . Believe . . . Become whole . . . For there is no Soul without the Fallen . . ._

“. . . I believe.”

“. . . I understand.”

* * *

Hermione opens her closed lids, and blinks the sleep from her eyes. A breath away from her, is Présage, still sleeping peacefully. Looking around groggily, she realizes she’s at the very top of the tree-of-trees, resting on top of leaves so large they’re almost like child-size beds.

_Did you find what you needed to know?_

Hermione cranes her neck to look up, and she sees her Mum looking down kindly at her. Her Mum is sitting cross-legged with her wings resting over her and Présage’s bodies.

“I . . . Don’t know. I still want to know where we are,” she replies. They hear a distant, playful growl, and Hermione looks out across the strange world, seeing the small figure of Bartholomew chasing a glittering star across the sky.

_This place is but a seed of a greater tree, but as a seed, it has the potential to grow,_ her Mum begins, and Hermione listens attentively.

_This is the Tree-of-Trees: the Gaokerena, the Bodhi, the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, the Immortal Peach Tree, the Borjgali, the Yggdrasil, the Etz Chaim, the Kabbalah, the Iroquois, and many more of the like. They all are one in the same: the Tree of Life._

Jean pauses for a second, and she brushes a strand Présage’s hair off her face.

_It is the seed of eternal life . . . And by whatever gods there may be, the Tree has allowed the seed to take root in your mind._


	9. Phoenix Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amélie and Hermione work together for the first time in their lives!

Hermione’s jaw drops.

“This is my _mind?!_ ”

Her shout wakes Présage, and the Veela Alfā growls grumpily.

“Are you always this loud when you wake up?” She grumbles.

“No, and you know that already . . . Now that I think about it, can you see anything when you’re in here?”

Présage scowls, and drags herself to their Mum lazily, plopping her head on their Mum’s lap.

 _The Tree lives through you, and it offers to let Amélie see everything,_ their Mum says, and Présage lets out a humph.

“Why does everyone here call Présage ‘Amélie’?” Hermione asks.

“Probably because Amélie is my name, dumbass,” Présage-Amélie grumbles.

“I thought Eto named you,” Hermione says, tilting her head at Présage-Amélie’s back.

“Dumbass again; Maman gave me the nickname for you, so I chose my own name,” Amélie says, and Hermione nods slowly.

“Okay, so do you want me to call you that?” Hermione says, and Amélie sighs loudly.

 _Amélie, your sister is making an effort to be civil,_ their Mum says, and Amélie rolls over dramatically.

“Whatever—but not in front of anyone else!” The Veela Alfā huffs, and Hermione nods.

“There’s another thing I want to ask you, why are there spirits of the men I murdered in my head?”

Hermione’s blunt question doesn’t faze Amélie, although their Mum winces at it.

“I wanted people to play with, and the Tree told me how to do it.”

“By ‘play’ do you mean torture?” Hermione drawls.

 _Hermione!_ Their Mum gasps, but Amélie just snickers.

“Obviously.”

“Then why is Mum here?”

Amélie’s reply is interrupted by the rustling of leaves as Bartholomew joins them on the canopy.

 _When Jean’s soul departed from your world, the Tree decided to mold me after her,_ their Mum says, and Hermione eyes widened.

“What?!”

The spirit’s eyes soften, and she runs a soothing hand down Hermione’s arm.

_I am merely an extension of the Tree-of-Trees, and for seven years, I had no form. That is, until the Tree finally granted Amélie access to it. It knew she needed a familiar face to help her, guide her, so it changed me. In a way, I am Alpha Jean Joyce Mendonica, I retain all her memories, her wants, her woes, her loves._

“O-Okay . . . So you’re still our Mum?” Hermione asks slowly, and she’s given a brilliant smile in reply.

“She’s our bloody soul guide for the Tree. It tells her shit,” Amélie says, and their Mum rolls her eyes.

_I wouldn’t have it put it so bluntly, but yes, the Tree tells me what you need to know when you do. For instance, while your sense of time may be suspended in here, your packmates are still in danger out in the physical world._

“Shit! How could I have forgotten!” Hermione lurches up to her feet, pacing franticallynext to Bartholomew. Amélie and their Mum stand as well, and the Veela Alfā cocks a hip and crosses her arms.

“They’re going to be pissed at you, you know,” Amélie drawls, and Hermione glares at her.

“I wonder whose fault is that?” She snarks back, and Amélie shrugs.

“How do I get out of here?” Hermione asks their Mum, and the spirit readjusts her wings.

 _Amélie knows how,_ she says simply, and Hermione turns to the Veela Alfā, who stares her down.

“What? You really think I’m going to let you out and keep me here? Thanks, but no thanks.”

Hermione’s jaw drops, and a snarl tears out from her throat. Bartholomew whines, and hunkers behind their Mum.

“What the fuck are you talking about? It’s _my_ body!”

“Newsflash, I want to live a life too!”

“Well why can’t you just ask your Tree to make yourself a new body?!”

“I already did!”

There’s a moment of silence after their volley of shouts. Both Hermione and Amélie are growling low under their breaths, and Amélie’s feathers are ruffled. Hermione is the first to break the silence.

“What was the answer?”

Amélie scowls, and glances at their Mum, who tilts her head and makes a “go on” gesture.

“I . . . To make myself my own body . . . I need the Deathly Hallows,” Amélie says slowly.

“Well, that’s great, we’re both after the same thing, we just have to get rid of the last Horcrux’s and Mini will—”

“It’s a magical portrait, Hermione. It’s a fragment of its subject’s core values, and the Morrigan, in all her glory, loathed Horcruxes,” Amélie says coldly, and Hermione blinks rapidly at her. Amélie sneers, and she stalks towards Hermione, poking her hard in the chest.

“Little reminder? _I live through you_. Always have, and always will. That self destruct feature? Lie. Married? Lie. The password thing is somewhat a lie, but that doesn’t really count,” Amélie straightens herself, looming over Hermione.

“What does count, is that you. Are. Wasting. My. _Time!_ ”

Hermione takes a step back at Amélie’s shouts, and their Mum places a calming hand on the Veela Alfā’s wing.

_She didn’t know, Amélie._

“Yeah, she’s just emotionally stunted,” Amélie retorts.

“Hey,” Hermione snaps.

“It’s not your fault, your conditioning was really strong.”

Hermione’s heart skips a beat at those words, and not in a good way.

“What are you talking about?” She whispers, and Amélie and their Mum exchange a look.

 _Let’s take a break to digest everything, and in a bit, we can convene again,_ their Mum says in a mediative tone.

“But—”

_I’m sorry, my dear, I promise I’ll tell you later. In the meantime, you two should continue destroying the Horcruxes._

“What? Why?” Amélie squawks, and their Mum levels a serious gaze on them.

_It simply must be done._

Amélie stares at their Mum with narrowed eyes, the two of them communicating silently. Hermione opens her mouth to ask more questions, but Amélie grabs Hermione’s head, her thumbs placed over her temples.

» _Sleep_.«

* * *

Amélie opens her eyes to clocks, and instinctively she knows something’s different. Standing up, she instantly realizes she’s not in her True-Veela form anymore, but in Hermione’s regular body.

»What in Rozanica’s name . . . ?«

_Holy shit, I’m actually awake!_

Amélie jumps hard at the sound of Hermione’s voice in her head, and she feels her twin startle as well.

»Wh—how are you doing this?!« Amélie grabs her head, and she has a moment of surrealism as she feels her hair with smooth skin instead of feathered and taloned hands.

_I don’t know! I remember you telling me to sleep, and then, I’m here!_

»And where is here?« Amélie demands, and she jumps again when the door to the Time Chamber slams open. Scrambling deeper into the shadows like a crab, she and Hermione both hold their breaths as a squad of Aurors race through the Chamber to the other side.

_I can’t really explain it, it’s just a . . . Feeling? No, it’s more like, failed possession I guess,_

Hermione whispers, and Amélie realizes Hermione’s trying to explain how she’s lived her entire life. Trapped, stuck in a body beyond her control, a subject to every thought and sense. Although, Hermione seems to have figured out a way to speak.

_Hey, can you hear what I’m thinking? How well can you hear me?_

Well, apparently Hermione doesn’t know how to see Amélie’s thoughts. That’s comforting.

»No, and be quiet,« Amélie grumbles, and Hermione sighs. Amélie’s skin prickles, and she shivers a little. Hermione’s cognizant presence is like a ghost leaning over her shoulder.

_Well, let’s go save our packmates—_

» _Your_ packmates, and I’m not touching the abomination,« Amélie interrupts, and she stands slowly, edging out from her hiding place.

_Draco is our nephew—_

»That doesn’t automatically warrant our familial piety. He’s not part of House Mend—«

_He’s connected to us through the Black House. Through our birth father, Draco is our—er—my daughter’s cousin._

Hermione’s reply shuts Amélie up. In all the craze of this clusterfuck of a plan, she forgot about her Meissa. No, _Hermione’s_ Meissa. The powerful half-breed scion and heiress of House Black, the child who Amélie swears sensed her in Hermione.

_Amélie?_

Shaking her head of those thoughts, Amélie glances at the funny clock with the spoons.

_Like the one at the Burrow . . ._

Amélie ignores Hermione’s mutter, and she places her hands on the floor of the Time Chamber.

»Magick, please, hear me again,« Amélie murmurs, and she feels Hermione’s presence in her mind lean closer to her. This time, she really feels a small drift of wind play with the ends of her hair, and an older presence surrounds her. Hermione tenses, but doesn’t say anything.

»Magick, take us two hours back in time.«

No sooner did Amélie utter those words, than suddenly the sensation of a tugging in her gut _pulls_ , and she winces at the familiar feeling. Just like the Time-Turner, the world blurs around them; the Auror squad runs backwards, a few Unspeakables walk through the Chamber, the clock hands all spin madly backwards, the hummingbird cursed to birth and death becomes a blur of blood and feathers.

Finally, the world settles, and Amélie looks down at the spoon clock at her feet. It’s hands are two hours behind than it was, and she grins.

_When did you learn to do that?_

Hermione asks incredulously, and Amélie smirks.

»That’s for me to know and you to find out,« Amélie smirks as she stalks out of the Chamber, into the circular room with the identical doors.

_What are you planning?_

»You ask too many questions,« Amélie mutters as she casts her magic out, finding the door leading out to the hallway. The black stone around her feels different somehow, almost like it wants to give her an embrace.

_I honestly think I prefer having memory loss over this,_

Hermione grumbles. Amélie ignores her, and takes the Lift all the way up to Level One.

_Wait, you have to morph into someone else, my Past-Self is still most definitely up here,_

Hermione says quickly, and Amélie smirks.

»I know.«

Amélie tunes out Hermione’s nagging voice, and she carefully exits the Lift. Truth to be told, she has a valid reason for not morphing. Glancing both ways in the empty hallway, Amélie sniffs the still air, catching a waft of Hermione’s and Percy’s lingering scents. Smirking, Amélie starts walking down the hall Hermione’s Past-Self had walked.

Keeping a keen ear for any sounds of people approaching her, Amélie slows down when she spots a closet. Flicking her fingers at the door, it creeks open to reveal a fairly large size storage space with a few cleaning objects. Her smirk grows wider, and Hermione finally falls quiet.

Her ears prick when she hears footsteps plodding steadily her way. Looking up, Amélie sees with her own eyes the Death Eater she’s looking for. She clears her throat pointedly, and Rookwood looks up from his bloodied papers, his irritated look shifting to shock in a millisecond.

He reacts instantly; dropping the papers and flicking his wrist to unsheathe his wand from its arm holster; but Hermione’s wand is already held delicately in Amélie’s fingers, the tip aimed between his eyes. There’s a split second between them, and Amélie watches in slow motion as red light blooms from the Death Eater’s wand, fear flashing in his eyes.

She lets him see, in that split second, a hint of a smug smile.

“ _Avada Kedavra._ ”

* * *

Rookwood’s body flies back a few meters, scattering the discarded papers even more in the hall. She raises a mental screen to block out Hermione’s shouts, and Amélie forces herself to relax. Concentrating on her breathing as the recoil of pleasure from the Unforgivable snaps through her body, she widens her stance, digging her heels into the floor to ground herself.

She spreads her Thrall through her veins, her blood, her magical channels, guiding the dark, addictive magic down through her feet and out of her system. The magic appears as green mist around her ankles, and it fizzles out of existence. Letting out a deep breath, Amélie completes another Thrall sweep of her body just to make sure there’s absolutely no lingering magic.

There’s none.

Amélie regains her composure, waving her hand in a circular motion. Rookwood’s body levitates into the closet, and the papers fly off the floor into a neat stack in her hand. Grinning, Amélie steps into the closet, and shuts the door behind her, and lowers the mental screen.

_Eto taught you that._

Amélie nods at Hermione’s cold statement, and she feels her twin stirring.

_She never bothered to teach me._

Amélie doesn’t bother to reply. She feels Hermione’s frustration over the fact that Maman clearly favored her education over Hermione’s. Truth to be told, it had always bothered her for some reason, even during the bouts of strong loathing for Hermione came over her.

Glancing over the papers, she scoffs when she sees they’re more blood registry files. Burning them with a little spark of Cursed Fire, Amélie crouches over Rookwood’s corpse.

_Why?_

Amélie shrugs a little as she flips Hermione’s wand over her fingers so that she’s holding the wand upside down. She always figured that Maman wanted her to have a way to take over whenever Hermione lost her subconscious control.

Throwing the flap of Rookwood’s coat out of the way, she pulls cuts through his clothes until she has a clear area of his chest.

_What are you doing now? Is this another thing Eto taught you?_

»Yes, now hush, I need to concentrate,« Amélie mutters, and she steadies her hand. Carefully, she locates his heart, and makes a circle incision around it on his flesh. Rookwood’s body is still warm, so his blood beads up along the fine cut. Amélie then starts to etch a string of ancient runes on the inside of the circle, and the same string but larger on the outside.

She slices another circle around the larger runes, and then suddenly, she rears her arm back and plunges the end of Hermione’s wand all the way through Rookwood’s chest straight through his dead heart.

* * *

Amélie and Hermione both gasp as the blood magic greedily uses them as a conduit to feed from Rookwood’s corpse. The ancient runes glow black and red, and a thick fog of shadow fills the closet.

Amélie hears Hermione cast a silencing ward, and the ward covers the door just before the loud sounds of blood starts gurgling. Thick, dark globs of blood and gore bubbling through the stab wound, crawling up Hermione’s wand and Amélie’s hand.

_Fuck, what did you do?!_

Amélie gulps, watching as shards of bone inch their way out of the stab wound, widening the wound opening.The sound of slowly tearing skin almost makes Amélie want to gag and pull away, but she remains frozen. To break the Blood Scry now would mean death. The Death Eater’s body slowly pales as all his insides spiral out of him, rising high over Amélie like an umbrella.

» _Exercitum praeter revelare,_ « Amélie chants, and the blood ripples. The column of blood holding up the rest thins, and the rest above her flattens out.

» _Exercitum praeter revelare._ «

Smokey images begin to appear all over the blood, flashes of memories, images that are slowly clearing up.

» _Exercitum prater revelare._ «

Finally, all the images sharpen to crystal clear clarity, and Amélie closes her eyes, pouring her will into the ancient runes. They flare brighter, and all the jumble of memoriesexcept one vanish. Amélie opens her eyes, and she watches through Rookwood’s eyes as hewalks up a ruined stone path to a ruined shack of a house with a dead snake nailed to the door.

There’s a flash of black as the images change, this time showing a trap door being revealed underneath the couch. Another flash, and Amélie sees a small cell with the number _37_ inscribed over it. Inside, she glimpses the shadow of a figure curled up in the very back, the light dancing off their naked body.

» _Quod cedant in nihilum!_ « Amélie says loud and clear, and the ancient runes shudder angrily, and she feels its dangerous attention turn fully to her.

 _Quod cedant in nihilum!_ Hermione growls, startling Amélie, and her twin’s magic intertwines with hers. The animated blood spasms, and then it begins to steam.

_Get out of here, you’re going to suffocate!_

Amélie wrenches Hermione’s wand out of Rookwood, and a hiss of thick steam nearly hits her in the face. Scrambling up, she jerks the closet door open, sliding through before shutting it firmly before any of the blood infused steam can escape.

_What in Rozanica’s name did you do all of that for?!_

Hermione demands, and Amélie straightens herself.

»One: we couldn’t have the scum barging in on your Past-Self, two: your idea to track Vicencta through Vyvian’s skull was too unreliable, and three: Jean said we have to,« Amélie says as she vanishes all blood off Hermione’s wand before she sheathes it.

_Well that’s all dandy, but do you also have a plan to get Draco and Daphne?_

Hermione says, and Amélie rolls her eyes.

»Just sit back and watch, I have everything under control,« Amélie says, and she starts walking to the Lift.

_Uh huh. Was that the first time you performed that scrying ritual?_

»It was, in fact.«

Hermione isn’t impressed, but she quiets done. Amélie orders the Lift to take her to the Atrium.

»Can you morph us?«

Amélie’s question confuses Hermione a little, and she can feel her twin’s sudden nervousness.

_Why can’t you morph?_

»Just do it, the Lift is going to open any second now,« Amélie snaps, and Hermione grumbles under her breath.

_Alright, fine, I’ll try._

Amélie can sense Hermione concentrating, and then her stomach flutters. Keeping quiet to not break Hermione’s focus, she gasps as she feels her body chemistry fluidly morph.

»Who am I?«

The Lift doors ping open, and the group of wizards and witches waiting immediately hurry out of her way. Amélie strides out confidently, and anyone who sees who hurriedly avoids her.

_Rookwood._

Amélie scowls so furiously at the thought of looking like a Death Eater that a wizard falls over in his mad haste to get out of her way to the fireplace exit.

* * *

The second Amélie Apparates in front of the shack, she conjures a mirror and snarls at her reflection.

»Change me back this instant!« She orders, and Hermione wordlessly morphs her back. Rubbing her face, she banishes the mirror and she reaches into her the uppermost layers of her mind.

»Bartholomew!«

Hermione’s curiosity spikes as she feels his presence surfacing from the place where the Tree-of-Tree resides in her body.

 _Amélie! . . . Twin!_ He barks happily, and Amélie grins as his presence nuzzles against her mind.

»Bartholomew, fetch Daphne . . . And the abomination, and deliver them safely to Grimmauld Place,« Amélie orders, and Bartholomew makes a confused sound.

_Deliver . . . Abomination . . . Why?_

_Draco is our family Bartholomew, he’s not an abomination,_

Hermione says, and Amélie scoffs. The spirit shrugs, and then he pours out of Amélie’s body in the form of thin mist, forming into his red phantom-like body. Amélie raises her arm, keeping very still as Bartholomew closes his jaws around her wrist.

»He needs blood to have a physical body, or he’ll fade back to this,« Amélie explains to Hermione. They both wince at the sharp sting of Bartholomew’s top canine piercing her skin, and in a minute, the undead beast is completely solid. Amélie still notices that red light still flickers off his ragged fur here and there, and his eyes are now the color of his spirit.

 _Batholomew . . . Shall . . . Deliver . . . Fast!_ He roars, and in a blur of red and black, Bartholomew is gone.

* * *

Amélie pushes open the door of the shack, and a wave of lightheadedness overwhelms her.

_Woah, take it easy, you’ve done enough,_

Hermione says in a concerned tone, but Amélie pushes her away.

»I’m fine,« she growls, and takes a brief moment to clear her head. She crosses the shack swiftly and levitates the couch off the trap door. Snapping her fingers, the door creaks open, and Amélie descends into darkness.

— . —

 _Avada Kedavra_ = Unforgivable Killing Curse

 _Exercitum praeter revelare_ = Veela Blood Scry Chant (Latin: Reveal Host Past) 3x

 _Quod cedant in nihilum!_ = Veela Blood Scry Antichant (Latin: Cease To Exist) 2x


	10. The Plan: Completed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Amélie finally accomplish the plan, and return home!

The dungeon has an oppressive weight to it, making Amélie want to hunch her shoulders under the phantom pressure. Neither she nor Hermione speak as they walk through the corridor, and the only sounds that greet their ears are the sounds of the Cursed Fire sphere spitting above Amélie’s palm and the soft thuds of her footsteps.

So far, they haven’t seen any cells.

What seems like years later, Amélie picks out the shape of a door in the distant gloom. She slows, clenching her fingers at the rusted handle, and the old wooden door swings open on oiled hinges. Behind the door, is a set of winding stairs leading further down into the ground. A cold breeze hits Amélie’s face, and she shivers. It’s almost like ice fingers tugging at her clothes.

_I don’t like this, Amélie,_

Hermione mutters, and Amélie huffs, projecting faux-confidence.

»We’ll be fine,« she replies, and she takes the first step down. Instantly, a burst of wind roars up the stairwell, whipping her hair around her face and deafening her. Amélie jumps back, and as soon as her feet lift off of the first step, the wind disappears just as fast as it came.

_It’s the Crypts! I knew it!_

Hermione roars, and Amélie takes a shaky breath.

»I think it remembers you,« she mutters, and Hermione growls under her breath.

». . . Maman forbid me from entering the Crypts, be-spelled me never to enter it actually . . .« Amélie tapers off, and Hermione catches onto what she’s alluding to.

_So . . . Is it time for us to swap?_

Amélie sneers at the thought of it; to enter her cage after spreading her wings in freedom.

_I’m not going to lock you in, I promise,_

Hermione murmurs, and Amélie huffs.

»You’re promises are just empty words—«

_I swear on my magic I will let you live, and someday, I swear to find a way to walk beside you in your own body, so mote it be._

There’s a ringing silence after Hermione’s triple oath, and despite herself, Amélie’s heart shudders at the prospect of what her twin has sworn. Her body warms in excitement for the future, and the corridor doesn’t seem so daunting anymore.

»You never do anything by halves,« Amélie says, and she closes her eyes, turning her mind inward. She prepares herself, and she leaps off the cliff of her mind into that void, pushing Hermione up like a counterweight as she falls.

* * *

Hermione gasps as she opens her eyes, and her Cursed Fire sphere goes out. Pitch black darkness swallows her whole, and she scrambles to relight her Cursed Fire. The flames poof back into existence, and she lets out a relieved sigh. Being underground like this rattles her nerves, and she itches to morph out her wings and fly away.

_Well are you going to get a move on?_

“Amélie!” Hermione gasps out loud, and she freezes as the name ricochets off the walls and echoes all around her.

_Don’t speak out loud! What if someone hears you?!_

Amélie hisses fiercely, but Hermione can sense the Veela Alfā is deeply perturbed.

»Sorry,« Hermione whispers, and Amélie huffs. Hermione turns her attention back to the stairs leading down to the Crypts. Cautiously, she places her foot on the first step, and nothing happens.

_I guess it likes you,_

Amélie mutters, and Hermione frowns. Slowly, she descends the stairwell, hyper alert for anything.

»I’m not sure that’s a good thing,« she mutters back, and Hermione senses Amélie’s silent agreement. The downward spiral is actually shorter than she expected, and upon opening the solid iron door, Hermione’s hit in the face with the rush of the Crypts’ cold winds.

_Hermione!_

Amélie roars, pressing herself against the barrier separating who stays in control, but Hermione flings out her Thrall around her.

»Wait!« She shouts, and her twin pauses, her presence building behind Hermione’s eyes in the form of a growing headache. The Crypts hears her, and it pools around her legs. Hermione closes her eyes, tapping into the magic around her, and she gazes down at the patch, mist-like form of the Crypts’ magic.

There’s not much of it, and Hermione realizes it’s still recovering from her attack on it. Tilting her head, Hermione watches the Crypts brush up against her ankles like a cat, swirling and slithering around her calves. The Crypts almost gives off a submissive aura.

»How are you even here?« Hermione muses to herself, and the Crypts eagerly leaps to cling to her hand that isn’t holding her Cursed Fire.

_Stay on your guard, it could be a trap,_

Amélie warns, growling at the Crypts. The Crypts seems to roll its eyes at Amélie’s words, and the growling in Hermione’s head grows.

»Alright cut it out you two,« she sighs, and she opens her eyes to start walking again. This corridor is chillier than the last; Hermione can even see her breath; but the Crypts’ own coldness wards off the worst of the chill. After a few meters, the first cells come into view, but they’re all empty. Not even a speck of ash or remnant of a skeleton resides behind pristine bars.

Suddenly, the corridor ends in a split two ways. Both corridors look the exact same, and even the number of the cell in front of her doesn’t give her any clues.

»Amélie?« Hermione asks, and her twin shrugs.

_Left? The cell here is only ninety-four—_

Before Amélie can finish her sentence, the Crypts is practically dragging her to the right. Yelping, Hermione tries to dig her heels in and stop, but the Crypts swings back toward her, sweeping her off her feet. Dangling in the Crypts’ hold, Hermione shrieks as she and the Crypts sling shot down the corridor.

* * *

There was a time, oh so long ago but really wasn’t that long, that she was afraid to live. She got over that of course, although it took quite a while to really put that notion to rest. The birth of her sister helped, for she plainly saw that the tiny Alpha obviously had the active marks in her magic. That guilty notion burned her soul, and she viscously buried those in the deepest recess of her mind.

If Daphne had to really pin point when her childhood fear disappeared, it would be the moment a ridiculously tall eleven year old silently sauntered into her compartment of the Hogwarts Express. Daphne knew, even back then, that she wanted to stay by Hermione’s side no matter what it took.

What she didn’t know was the strength of a crush she tried to convince herself she didn’t have for the Alfā. She always knew Hermione had her back, and she hoped the Alfā knew she could rely on Daphne. She thought Hermione trusted her, so it shakes her to her core when she realizes the girl she loves was hiding a sociopathic split personality.

That’s the only thing she can come up with to explain the dark creature glaring down hatefully at her and Draco.

“ _That is not my name_.”

Daphne tenses at the seething, Alfā pheromones that blast out at them, and the dark creature huffs fire.

“My name is Présage.”

Daphne gasps as the next words out of the dark personality’s is the sound of metal sliding against metal, and all the Dementors in the courtroom flock to her.The dark creature utters a single, shrill note, and the Dementors attack.

“ _PRÉSAGE!_ ”

For a split second, Daphne spots a flash of fear in the dark personality’s eyes, and the creature curls away, fleeing through the wall.

“We needdd to go!” Draco roars, and Daphne slashes her wand in a diagonal line in front of her.

“Circle us!” Her Patronus races in front of her, warding off the Dementor closest to her and Draco.

“Reg! Who was she?!” Mary screams, and Daphne shoves her towards the door.

“Just shut up already!” She growls, and the three of them run out of the courtroom, Daphne’s Patronus casting a silvery shield over them as the Dementors hound them. Draco’s disguise dissolves as they sprint down the hall to the already crowded doors of the Lift. The Lift whose doors are starting to close

“Waitt! Holddd ttthe dddoors—” Draco’s yell is cut off by a shockwave just behind them. Daphne, Draco, and Mary are blasted off their feet, the Lift closes and rises away, and Daphne’s Patronus disappears.

_Dementor . . . Shall . . . Not . . . Pass . . . Bartholomew!_

A deep, guttural, bear-like roar shakes the walls, and Daphne’s jaw drops when she sees the giant monster that barely fits in the hall. Draco lets out a tiny gasp, terror written all over his face. The Dementors, surprisingly, are wary of the beast, but they still try to feed from Daphne and the others.

_NO! . . . STAY . . . AWAY!_

The monster howls, and its maw unhinges to reveal a threatening, deep red glow. The Dementors stop feeding, opting for speaking in their terrible language.

“Bartholomew!” Daphne yells, and the creature’s ears flick back to her.

“Whattt are you dddoing?! Ittt’s ttthe Werewolf Killer!” Draco hisses, but Daphne ignores him, and leaps to her feet.

“Bartholomew, attack the Dementors!” She orders, and the monster’s fur starts to glow red as well. A second passes. The red light pulses throughout Bartholomew the Werewolf Killer’s body, and then a beam of red energy launches out at the Dementors, punching them screaming down into the darkness of the endless hall.

Bartholomew shuts his maw, cutting off the red energy as he turns to face Daphne, Draco, and Mary.

_Bartholomew . . . Remembers . . . You._

Draco squeaks, and Mary faints. Daphne tries to focus on Bartholomew’s nose, which is the only thing that isn’t horribly disfigured about the monster.

“Bartholomew, what are you doing here? Who sent you?”

The beast shakes himself, and Daphne swears she can see through him.

_Amélie! . . . Bartholomew . . . Delivers!_

“Wha—AHHH!” Daphne barely has time to throw her hands up before Bartholomew grabs her and Draco, and suddenly her ears feel like she’s kilometers underwater, and the pressure builds and builds and builds until—

_POP!_

Daphne whimpers as a bell rings in her head, and she collapses on a soft carpet. Bartholomew is looming over her, sniffing her face and licking her clothes.

“Ugh, get off,” she moans, but he doesn’t. A scream sounds to her right, and Bartholomew jerks his head up. Andromeda’s face appears over her, dragging Daphne away from the monster. The older Beta’s lips move, but the sounds of her words are delayed and muffled.

Daphne winces, and then with a sudden clarity, she remembers her sister.

“Bartholomew,” she mutters, and the monster perks up at his name. Narcissa is there in the room as well, holding Draco close to her.

“Bring Astoria and Harry here,” she orders, and the Werewolf Killer bobs his head. He says something, and then he leaps through the wall, leaving red wisps in his wake. Seconds later, a bewildered Astoria and Harry are dumped on the floor. Daphne reaches for the beast, and he ambles towards her, ignoring Andromeda’s wand aimed at him.

“Bring Hermione back,” she says, but Bartholomew doesn’t move. Instead, he gives her a lick, and fades out of the room.

* * *

Hermione is unceremoniously dropped at some point in the endless stretch of dungeon corridor, her momentum throwing her a couple of meters across the cold floor. Miraculously, her sphere of Cursed Fire is still intact, and it swells to cast more of its light over her.

_THAT FUCKING TRAITOR! LET ME AT IT! I’LL DESTROY IT!_

Amélie howls, and Hermione winces at the loud sound. The Crypts swirls around Hermione happily, pleased with itself.

»You better have brought us to the right cell, or so help me I’ll let Amélie at you,« Hermione growls, and the Crypts twirls down the corridor to the next cell over, weaving in and out between the bars. Getting to her feet, Hermione walks towards the Crypts, a bubble of wary anticipation lodging itself in her throat.

Finally, Hermione steps in front of the cell, and raises her hand. Her Cursed Fire leaps into the cell, spreading itself to coat every square centimeter of the ceiling. Hermione blinks at the sight before her, and Amélie hisses wordlessly. There, curled in the tightest fetal position is Vicencta in her True-Veela form.

She’s a marred mess of dried blood, her skeleton plain to see under her frail skin. Her feathers are all oily and unkept, and missing in patches all over her body. However, the most concerning thing is that Hermione can’t see the Veela Alpha breathing.

Hermione breaks the lock on the cell door, and swings it open, but there’s no response from the still Veela. The Crypts lingers by the door, watching intently as Hermione drops down beside Vicencta.

_Is she dead?_

Amélie asks in a disinterested tone, and Hermione scowls.

»Don’t be so insensitive,« she says, and she senses Amélie shrug.

_Eh, she and I never liked each other, and you can’t feel properly to be truly concerned about her,_

Amélie drawls, and Hermione growls at her. She wants to snap that she does care, but thinking it over, she realizes that her concern is causal. It unnerves her a little, andHermione wants to prove Amélie wrong. Raising a hand over the Vicencta, Hermione closes her eyes, tapping into the magic around her.

At first, she doesn’t see anything, but then she does.

_Holy Rozanica—what the fuck—it’s between her ribcage!_

»Hermione gasps, and her eyes snap open. She pulls the Veela Alpha closer to her, and hovers her hand over Vicencta’s sternum. A faint pulse of heat warms her palm, and she narrows her eyes.

»Did Eto teach you how to extract anything like this?« she asks, and Amélie shivers.

_We’ll have to burn it out of her._

Hermione frowns grimly, and wraps her Thrall around Vicencta, slathering thick layers over the Veela Alpha’s body.

»I suspected as much,« Hermione mutters, and then she lights her hand on Cursed Fire. The faint heat flares at the proximity of her Cursed Fire, and Hermione doesn’t waste the precious seconds Vicencta’s needs. Slamming her palm against Vicencta’s sternum, Hermione pushes her Cursed Fire through the Veela Alpha’s flesh, and Vicencta jerks awake roaring.

_Don’t let go!_

Amélie shouts, and Hermione feels her Thrall wrap over Hermione’s pinning the thrashing Veela to the ground. Hermione’s Cursed Fire rolls and bashes against the growing heat under her palm, and Vicencta’s screams rise an octave when the heat pushes against Hermione’s Cursed Fire.

_Kill it! Kill it!_

Amélie shrieks.

“It would be easier without you yelling in my ear!” Hermione shouts over Vicencta’s screeching, and she digs her fingers into the Veela Alpha’s flesh, increasing her Cursed Fire. The Crypts suddenly bursts into the cell, diving under Hermione’s hand and into Vicenta. The Veela Alpha lets out a shrill, chocked gasp, and her body sags, but her mouth and eyes stay wide open.

Hermione feels a pinch on her palm controlling her Cursed Fire, and she stares as a shape starts to glow under the Vicencta’s skin. The Crypts white magic constricts around the cup, wrapping the Cursed Fire around it like a protective blanket, and it slowly starts to rise.

_Rozanica protect us,_

Amélie swears, and Hermione jerks her hand away from Vicencta, staring in morbid fascination as the Crypts ever so gently proceeds to tear the Veela’s Alpha’s skin and ribs apart to push the Horcrux out of her. Vicencta lets out a wet gurgle, and she throws up a glob of blood.

The Crypts’ magic continue to rise, still siphoning Hermione’s Cursed Fire around it. The Horcrux buzzes and rattles in it’s confines, it’s evil aura trying to seep out and corrupt the Crypts. However, the cold magic isn’t affected, and it begins to spin Hermione’s Cursed Fire into thread-like rope, strangling the Horcrux.

It’s methodical, and when the last visible part of the Horcrux disappears under the braided ropes of Cursed Fire, the Horcrux lets out an enraged, blood-curdling scream. Hermione jerks at the sound, and she clenches her fingers into a fist, and the Crypts leaps away from the Hufflepuff’s Cup as her Cursed Fire implodes it.

* * *

Hermione pants as she extinguishes her Cursed Fire, watching as a slow rain of ash falls to the floor. The Crypts preens at the sight, and it nuzzles Hermione’s side before pointing at Vicencta. Hermione blinks, and then she wills her Thrall to begin the slow process of healing the Veela Alpha.

Amélie is silent as she watches Hermione heal Vicencta’s broken body. Gradually, the patches of missing feathers grow back, the dried blood is washed away, and the Veela Alpha’s body soon shines a little with a healthy glow. She’s still terribly malnourished, and her skin is still weak, but now Hermione can see Vicencta’s chest rise and fall in tiny breaths.

As soon as she settles back, Hermione gasps, and Amélie croons a welcome as Bartholomew appears behind them. The Crypts shuffles closer to the red spirit, poking at him curiously.

_You’re just in time Bartholomew, take us back to Grimmauld Place,_

Amélie orders. Hermione grabs Vicencta before nodding her thanks to the Crypts, and she sinks into Bartholomew’s embrace as he whisks them out of the cell.

* * *

Amélie sits cross-legged in front of the stubborn child, not moving an centimeter.

_You know Mei’s not going to give up,_

Hermione says in an amused tone, and Amélie ignores her. She’s not going to lose a staring contest with a baby.

_Amélie, why don’t you actually play with her?_

Meissa tilts her head when Hermione speaks, and a smile breaks out on her small face. Amélie huffs, and crosses her arms.

‡ _Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss? [Brood-Queen-Mother?]_ ‡ She hisses excitedly.

»Are you still playing with your chick?« A soft voice rasps from the door, and Amélie breaks her stare from Meissa to look at Vicencta.

»You shouldn’t be up,« Amélie sighs, and she gets up to help the Veela Alpha to a chair in Hermione’s room. Vicencta sinks gratefully into it, and she leans her crutches against the wall.

»I’m a highly qualified nurse, I know when I should and shouldn’t move,« Vicecnta scoffs, and Amélie rolls her eyes.

‡ _Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Blood-Queen-Mother]! Twin rolled her eyesss!_ ‡ Meissa hisses, pointing an accusing finger at Amélie. Hermione chuckles, and Amélie huffs.

‡ _It’sss also rude to point fingersss, little Adder,_ ‡ Tyche hisses, coiling around Meissa more comfortably.

*You three need to get better at hiding the fact that Présage exists,* Err’sh whistles exasperatedly. Amélie gives the Condor a stink eye, and he returns it.

_You guys, behave, please?_

Hermione sighs, and Meissa, Tyche, Err’sh give each other conspiring looks. Amélie sighs, and studiously avoids Vicencta’s probing gaze. She senses Hermione’s attention focusing on her daughter, and she allows her thoughts to wander.

It’s been a week since she and Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place with an unconscious Vicencta in tow. Since then, Narcissa has become a merciless dictator of the house, Andromeda’s become the unofficial therapist, Draco has locked himself in his room and only creeps out at odd hours when Harry manages to coax him out, Daphne vindictively ignores Hermione presence, and the rest of the members of the house walk on eggshells around each other.

Oh, and also Meissa, Tyche, and Err’sh don’t think Amélie has proven herself worthy of being Hermione’s constant companion. Amélie rubs her face, and she glances at the Le Fey Locket hanging on the wall. While she might not trust it, she does trust her soul guide, and if Jean wants her and Hermione to destroy the rest of the Horcruxes, she’ll have to talk to the animated thing sooner or later.

»Hermione,«

Amélie looks over at Vicencta, and she raises an eyebrow at the Veela Alpha’s stiff posture.

»What’s in the locked room down the hall?«

Amélie waves her hand dismissively.

»Oh that? That’s just Bella’s room,« she says, her attention diverting back to Meissa as the child rolls around on the floor. She idly wonders if the little Alpha is a Metamorphmagus like Hermione. She ignores Hermione’s cooing baby words and Meissa reacting to them.

»I want to meet her.«

Amélie tilts her head at Vicencta’s firm request.

»Why?« She asks, watching the Veela Alpha in the corner of her eye.

»Call it a nurse’s intuition, but Bellatrix has something that _will_ help me heal, I just know it,« Vicencta says firmly.

_I don’t see a problem with it, besides, it’s high time Mei meet her other Mum,_

Hermione says, finally dragging her attention away from Meissa. Amélie shrugs, and she picks up Hermione’s daughter, the child staring at her as if she’s trying to see through her to Hermione. Walking over to Vicencta, she offers the Veela Alpha her arm.

»Well? Do you want to see Bella or not?«


	11. All Good Things Come To Those Who Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sort of a transition chapter to the bigger things!

It’s a short, but tense walk to Bella’s room. Ever since the Alpha woman was tucked away, there was an unspoken rule that only Narcissa was allowed to enter. Tyche slithers next to her, keeping a keen eye on Meissa, as if the Horned Serpent expects Amélie to drop the child at any second. Err’sh waddles behind them, keeping a respectful distance from Vicenta’s crutches.

Amélie reaches the door first, and she pushes it open slowly, holding the door for Viecnta to walk through. She doesn’t know what to expect, but the room looks as pristine as the rest of the house. The only wrong thing is Bella, sleeping like the dead in her bed. Vicencta sucks in a hissing gasp at the sight of the pale Alpha woman.

Amélie tilts her head the Veela Alpha’s shell-shocked expression, and Meissa pulls on Amélie’s ear to get her attention.

‡ _Bonded! Feathersss! Ssscalesss! Magic!_ ‡ Meissa hisses in an excitedly babble, leaving Amélie confused.

_What is she saying?_

Hermione asks, and Amélie shrugs.

»What happened to her?« Vicencta asks quietly as she crutches over to Bella’s side, sitting gently on the bed. Amélie walks over to the other side and places Meissa next to her other mother.

»She was struck by some magic that separated her magic from her body,« Amélie intones, eyeing Tyche slither onto the bed and around her waist. Err’sh flaps onto the Alpha woman’s vanity, and he starts to clean his feathers. A flash of pain washes over Vicencta, but she waves away Amélie’s concerned look.

»I’m fine—is it permanent? How long has she been like this? Is she . . .« Vicencta trails off, a guarded expression taking over her features.

_Why does she care so much? I don’t recall that she and Bella ever met,_

Hermione muses, and Meissa crawls closer to Bella, staring intently at her wild curls.

»She’s been in a coma for, let me see,« Amélie casts her mind back, counting back to the fateful night.

»A little over two months now,« Amélie says. A hint of deep sadness flickers in Vicencta’s eyes, and Amélie suddenly realizes why the Veela Alpha is reacting this way.

»She’s your Mate.«

* * *

Vicencta doesn’t say anything, but her stiff body language speaks volumes. Meissa glances up at the Veela Alpha, and then she looks back at Amélie with a smug look.

‡ _Bonded,_ ‡ she hisses with a satisfied smile, and Amélie stares at the child, shocked that she knew that Vicencta and Bella were Mates before said Mates did.

_By Rozanica! You’re so perceptive Mei!_

Hermione coos, and Amélie rolls her eyes while Meissa preens.

»I won’t intrude between you and Bellatrix,« Vicencta’s quiet, almost pained mumble breaks the silence, and Amélie raises an eyebrow.

»What in Rozanica’s name are you blathering about?« She asks incredulously, and Vicencta tilts her head toward Meissa.

»Oh her? Just because I had a kid with Bella doesn’t mean I love her, or she I,« Amélie drawls, and Vicencta’s furrows her brows. Meissa makes a face up at Amélie, and she climbs over Bella to crawl onto Vicencta’s lap.

»But, why did you have her?« The Veela Alpha asks. Amélie opens her mouth, but she feels Hermione press up on their barrier.

_Let’s switch, I want to speak to her._

Amélie sighs, and she silently gives the okay. She honestly isn’t feeling up for being around people who don’t to be around her. So she closes her eyes, and falls into herself.

* * *

Hermione blinks a couple of times, before she realizes she’s let the silence stretch on too long.

“Bella came to me pregnant, asking me to help her replace the father’s semen in her. It was very sudden, and neither of us were expecting Meissa, but I wouldn’t change the fact that I have her now,” Hermione says out loud. She’s read that people in comas can possibly hear everything around her, and she wants Bella to know what’s happening around her if she can hear.

Vicencta turns her gaze to the sleeping Bella.

“Who impregnated her?” The Veela Alpha growls, her hand clenching at the bed duvet instinctively in her anger. Meissa makes a chirping noise, and nuzzles against Vicencta, making her startle. Hermione smiles at the sight, and she feels Tyche lick her hand.

‡ _It’sss good to have you back, Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss, [Brood-Queen-Mother,]_ ‡ the Horned Serpent hisses.

‡ _Tyche, that’sss not niccce, Amélie can ssstill hear you,_ ‡ Hermione hisses, but her Familiar just gives her the snake equivalent of a shrug.

_Stuck up little brat. You better make sure your Meissa doesn’t grow up like her,_

Amélie grumbles, and Hermione sighs. She doesn’t know how she can fix the obvious animosity between her daughter, Familiars and her twin.

‡ _Bonded, up!_ ‡ Meissa demands, holding up her hands.

“Mei, Vicencta doesn’t understand what you’re saying,” Hermione says gently, and her daughter sends her an apologetic look. She ignores Amélie’s grumpy mumbles, and gives her daughter an encouraging smile.

“ **Up Bonded. Please?** ” Meissa says in French, and Vicencta glances at Hermione, who nods. Slowly, the Veela Alpha picks up the baby, and Meissa starts pawing at Vicencta’s face.

“ **Bonded! Where feathers?** ”

“ **Do you mean my wings?** ” Vicencta asks, and Meissa nods vigorously.

“ **Feathers! Want! Now!** ” She orders, and Hermione sends a pointed glare at Tyche, who looks away innocently. Sighing, she looks back at Err’sh, who shrugs.

*She doesn’t listen to me—neither of them,* he whistles, and raises his wing to preen his feathers.

*You could at least try,* Hermione replies sharply, and the Condor clacks his beak apologetically.

Vicencta shifts out her wings, and Meissa lets out an awed gasp, reaching out to touch them.

“ **Mei—** ” Hermione starts to say, but Vicencta gives her an easy smile.

“ **It’s alright, she can touch.** ”

Hermione relents only because she hasn’t seen the Veela Alpha smile in a while.

_You know, I think I can see her and Bella together,_

Amélie says in passing.

‡ _I agree with you—now Tyche, ssstop teaching Meisssssa to be a mannerlesssss dictator,_ ‡ Hermione hisses, turning to the Horned Serpent.

‡ _I wasssn’t! I wasss jussst teaching her how to be a good ssserpent!_ ‡ Tyche pouts.

*The child is no serpent, I can smell the wind in her,* Err’sh whistles, and Tyche flicks her tongue at him rudely.

‡ _The little Adder isss the daughter of the Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper! [Speaker-Queen-Usurper!]_ ‡

Hermione glances over to see Vicencta flexing her wings, much to Meissa’s enjoyment.

*I never said the chick wasn’t royalty or of noble blood, but if she is to be a serpent, she will rule the skies on wings of glory,* Err’sh whistles confidently, drawing himself up importantly. Tyche huffs, and launches into an argument with Err’sh, the Condor not backing down.

However, Hermione’s thoughts race back to what Luna called her daughter.

_Raven King,_

Amélie muses, and then she chuckles.

_She actually looks like one, now that I think about it._

Hermione is about to disagree, but then she hears Meissa crow triumphantly as she plucks a feather-scale from Vicencta’s wing.

“Meissa! Drop that this instant!” Hermione exclaims, and her daughter drops it as she stares at Hermione with wide eyes. Err’sh and Tyche shut up, turning to watch the scene.

“It’s alright Hermione, it didn’t hurt. It was just a pinch,” Vicencta says soothingly, but Hermione crosses her arms. The Veela Alpha’s wing still won’t stop twitching, and Hermione’s certain that the act brought back unpleasant memories for Vicencta.

“Still, that does not give you permission to go about de-feathering someone. Vicencta is a living creature, you should have thought about what you were doing before you did that,” Hermione says sternly, narrowing her eyes at Meissa. Her daughter lowers her head, and she clutches the feather-scale close to her.

‡ _Sssorry,_ ‡ Meissa mumbles.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Hermione says, and her daughter looks up at Vicencta.

“ **Sorry, Bonded,** ” Meissa says, her eyes wide with forgiveness and regret. Vicencta smiles at the child, and gives her a hug while shifting her wings away.

“ **It’s okay chick, I forgive you, just try not to do it again in the future,** ” she says, and Meissa looks up at Hermione with big, watery eyes, and she sighs.

“Come here,” she says softly, and Vicencta opens her arms to allow Meissa to hurry into Hermione’s arms.

‡ _I’m not mad at you,_ ‡ Hermione hisses. Vicencta turns away from them politely to give them some space. Meissa clasps onto her, her hand still clutching the feather-scale tightly.

‡ _Really?_ ‡

‡ _Really,_ ‡ Hermione waits until Meissa raises her head to look at Hermione in the eyes.

‡ _We can’t go around doing anything we want to othersss, it’sss not right—_ ‡ Hermione looks at Tyche as she says that, and the Horned Serpent lowers her head.

‡ _Our actionsss have consssequencccesss, and sssome might not be asss lenient to you as Vicecnta wasss,_ ‡ Hermione continues, and Meissa nods.

‡ _Wanted Bonded to wake Curly. Feather helps,_ ‡ she hisses, and Hermione glances at Bella.

‡ _Ssshe could, their Mate bond might do it,_ ‡ Tyche hisses helpfully.

*Doesn’t that include something like a kiss or touch? It wouldn’t be right, because Bella can’t give her consent,* Err’sh whistles.

‡ _Anyway,_ ‡ Hermione hisses, and her Familiars stop before they can get into another squabble.

‡ _Why don’t you asssk Vicencta what you want to do, it’sss her feather-ssscale after all. Oh, and her name isssn’t ‘Bonded’, it’sss ‘Vicccencccta’,_ ‡ Hermione hisses.

_A bit late to ask if she can use it after she’s plucked it,_

Amélie says, but Hermione ignores her. Meissa twists in her arms, and Vicencta looks back at them upon hearing the movement.

“ **May I use feather?** ” Meissa asks, and Vicencta nods.

“ **Sure, go ahead.** ”

Meissa grins at that, and she wriggles in Hermione’s hold. Hermione lets her go, watching as her daughter crawls up to Bella, and carefully smoothes out the feather-scale. Then, placing the feather-scale delicately on Bella’s forehead; the tip of the scale lying on the bridge of the Alpha woman’s nose, and the tip of the feather brushing her hairline; Meissa inhales a deep breath.

A soft thud makes everyone but Meissa turn to the window, where a Raven stands on the sill, watching them with black eyes.

_Hermione! Look!_

Amélie gasps, and Hermione whips her head back to her daughter. Meissa’s eyes are glowing, and as she exhales, a small plume of Cursed Fire puffs onto the feather-scale. The reaction is instantaneous: the feather-scale molds to Bella’s face, shimmering flaming-red. The same color as Vicencta’s hair.

Meissa sits back, and she lets out a pleased, bird-like trilling sound. When she turns to face her shocked audience, she blinks confusedly. Wordlessly, she points, and Hermione looks back to the window.

And there, on the sill, a flock of Ravens stare proudly back at Meissa.

* * *

There was always something important happening in Grimmauld Place, and Harry was always the last to find out. Like whatever Hermione, Meissa, and her “Aunt”-Who’s-Technically-Her-Ex-Step-Mother did to Bellatrix three days ago that sent Narcissa into a fury and Andromeda into curious disapproval.

He didn’t think it was on purpose, or at least he hoped it wasn’t. He understood—sometimes—that he was a single lion in a pit of snakes, and that excluded him in ways he’ll never truly comprehend.

To their credit, none of the other occupants of his Godfather’s—he wonders how Sirius is doing with Tonks and Remus—home ever treated him that differently, and currently he was the only one that Narcissa wasn’t pissed off at. Although from what Draco’s told him, she rather likes having her son assist in continuing the Potter line. He didn’t really care about the politics of it, only that his boyfriend’s mom approved of their relationship.

Harry strokes Draco’s wild hair soothingly on the Alpha’s bed, said Alpha curled up on his lap. Staring down at his shivering boyfriend, Harry once again opens his mouth to question Draco, but decides against it, just like the other hundreds of times.

“—on, you have to—”

Harry looks up at the closed door, hearing Astoria begging. He’s never met another Slytherin quite like her, and oddly enough he enjoys her exuberant personality.

“I don’t have to do squat, Astoria! I have no interest in talking with _Hermione_.”

That scathing growl could only belong to Daphne. Daphne, the picture perfect Slytherin image, except for when she loses her wild temper.

“But Daph! Mio wouldn’t tell me anything until you told me what happened!” Astoria whines, and Harry can practically hear the silent snarl from the Beta.

“Oh? Well I guess you won’t be hearing anything. Or perhaps I should, maybe it would knock her off that sky high pedestal of idolizing worship you have for her,” Daphne scoffs, and stalks away.

“What does that even mean?!” Astoria asks, trailing after her sister. Harry shakes his head at the siblings’ interactions. As his thoughts drift off to his Mum, as they do whenever he has a spare moment to do so, he wonders how she and Snape are getting along.

“Harry?”

“Yes?” He looks back down at Draco, and the Alpha finally tilts his head up so they can look into each other’s eyes.

“Why haven’ttt you been asking questttions?” Draco mumbles, and Harry brushes away the hair hanging in front of his boyfriend’s eyes. Both of their hair are growing longer, making them look like shaggy mops of fur.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he replies, and Draco blinks slowly.

“. . . Ttthanks.”

Harry smiles at him, and the Alpha ducks his head a little, blushing. They lie there on Draco’s bed in silence for a bit more—Harry hears the dull roar of Narcissa somewhere upstairs, which isn’t an uncommon occurrence these days—when Draco shifts onto of him so he can prop his head on Harry’s chest.

“Hey,” Harry mutters, pausing his stroking hand as silver-grey eyes stare at him cautiously.

“Whattt dddo you know abouttt ttthis?” Draco sticks out his tongue, showing the split tip. Harry resists the urge to touch it with his own tongue, but barely, and racks his brain back to the past.

“Um, it was after I punched you in the face because you called Colin the ‘M’ word—”

Draco winces at that, and mumbles apologies for being a bigoted git.

“—and then Hermione got pissed at you, Alpha dominated everyone, everyone sorta ostracized you for a day, and then you got a lisp?” Harry shrugs, unsure himself of the events that had occurred. He had heard the rumors of course from all the other Houses; Draco was being indoctrinated into a cult, Draco was being tortured by Filch, Draco had to clean the dungeons without magic, Draco was being used as a footstool.

The only thing in common with all these rumors was that Draco had seriously pissed off Hermione. Draco shudders, and he lowers his eyes.

“Yes . . . All of ttthattt is tttrue . . . You have ttto unddderstttanddd, Harry, Slytherin House isn’t like ttthe ottther Houses, especially Gryffindor,” Draco starts, and Harry starts stroking platinum-blond hair again.

“Long strrory shortrr, as trrhe King-in-Waitrring of Slytrrherin, Hermione haddd amasseddd a powerful reputttatttion ttthattt she haddd ttto dddefenddd lesttt she be forfeittt ttto ttthe House’s popular vottte, anddd approval of ttthe King attt ttthe tttime if she was anyttthing less ttthan worttthy of ttthe House’s core idddeals,” Draco says simply, as if something like that could be simple.

“Really? I didn’t know it was that intense,” Harry says, a little confused by the way the Slytherin House chose their student royalty.

“Well, parttt of Hermione’s power lay in her allies, anddd as her mosttt financially inclineddd ally, I holddd ttthe fifttth highesttt rank among ttthe Courttt. Dddaphne is seconddd as ttthe Queen, Tttracey is ttthirddd, anddd Astttoria is fourttth only because she’s ttthe favorittte of ttthe King, anddd she’s Dddaphne’s sisttter.”

“I knew about that stuff! Ginny started doing the allyship thing when she became King,” Harry exclaims, and Draco nods seriously.

“A King musttt be in tttotttal contttrol, so when I said ttthattt ddderogatttory slur, I shameddd my House anddd myself, buttt more importttantttly, I shameddd my _King,_ ” Draco’s voice gets huskier as he recalls the memories of the past.

“What happened?” Harry asks softly, and Draco lets out a tense sigh.

“Hermione dddisciplineddd me wittth ttthe whole House as witttnesses ttto my tttrial. When she was dddone, she healeddd me. In ttturn, my shame was swepttt away, anddd I was purifieddd once more in ttthe eyes of ttthe Pittt.”

Harry gapes at the information, and Draco smiles gently.

“Tttuttthfully, I don’ttt regrettt ttthis lisp—I regrettt how I gottt ittt—buttt every ddday ittt’s a firm reminddder of ttthe consequences of my arrogance gone astttray,” the Alpha says, and he places a butterfly kiss on Harry’s chin.

“That . . . That is nothing like how Gryffindor does it,” he mutters, and he hugs Draco. His boyfriend smiles, and Harry internally punches the air at getting the Alpha to smile.

“Oh yes, you lions dddumbly challenge ttthe currenttt King in a show of bruttte stttrengttth when you wanttt change,” Draco teases, and Harry playfully punches his shoulder.

“I might be dumb but I’m not that dumb,” Harry jokes, and it makes Draco chuckle. However, a solemn look overtakes the Alpha’s face.

“Drake?” Harry asks.

“I think . . . The ‘Amélie’ who sent that _thing_ is a Master Necromancer.”

“What?!”

“And I think Hermione has a rare form of conjoined-twin body-bond.”

“ _What?!_ ”

* * *

Hermione lies awake on the roof, staring at the cloud covered sky. Occasionally a star twinkles through the thick ambient light, and Hermione idly counts them. A restlessness resides in her chest, and if she lets herself imagine for a second, she can almost believe she’s lying next to Amélie.

Logically, that restlessness has to be emitting from the Le Fey’s Locket resting just below her clavicles. She’s out here instead of in her room with Meissa and her Familiars because of the questions burning in her, questions neither Amélie nor her soul guide will answer.

Speaking of her twin, the Veela Alfā is taking a “restorative nap”, and she gruffly explained that she’s never been mentally this awake to experience the world, and it leaves her more tired than she thought she could be.

Hermione picks up the silent Locket, holding it above her head. Silently, it swings open with a single brush of her thumb, and Hermione gazes up at the portrait of Morgana. Mini and she just stare each other, each waiting for the other to speak first. They both know they’re different, Hermione now aware that the Locket lies to protect itself, and the Locket now aware that Hermione isn’t so gullible anymore.

In the end, it is Mini who breaks the silence.

‡ _What do you want to know?_ ‡

Hermione places the Locket next to her beside her head, and sighs. It’s been a while since she was confident that she was alone in her own mind, and she wants to enjoy it while it lasts.

‡ _Where isss the lassst two Horcruxxxesss?_ ‡ She asks, and Mini answers without any fanfare. Hermione closes her eyes, and hums. Figures they’d be hard to get to.

‡ _What do the Deathly Hallowsss look like?_ ‡

Again, Mini answers instantly, her words ringing with truth.

‡ _And where can I locate them?_ ‡

When Mini’s slow answer comes, Hermione jerks up and wakes Amélie up.


	12. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say Amélie and Daphne have a heart-to-heart "chat"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's named after the song Lucky by James Mraz and Colbie Caillat

Hermione and Amélie stare at the two objects laid out on the floor before them. They had locked the door securely, and made sure Meissa was tucked snuggling into bed before they brought out the items. Tyche and Err’sh flanked her sides, each wondering what the fuss is all about.

_I can’t believe it, the second one was here this whole time,_

Amélie mutters, and Hermione nods, although in retrospect, she should have known Harry’s Invisibility Cloak was more than just a regular cloak of that ilk. All it took was a simple Accio, and the Cloak flew into her room, hopefully unnoticed by its current owner. Next to it the shimmering elegance of the Cloak, the Elder Wand doesn’t look that impressive at first glance, but upon closer inspection, it’s a strangely beautiful thing.

Looking at the seven tapering knots of the wand; three larger ones for the handle, and four smaller ones for the rest of the thirty-eight centimeter length of wood. It’s by far the largest wand Hermione’s ever seen, and she shudders to wonder how large Death is if the Elder Wand is only His pinky finger.

_What is the Cloak made of?_

Amélie asks, and Hermione repeats the question for Mini. The Locket, which is hovering over the Horcruxes makes an odd face.

‡ _What you sssee here isss a ssswath of ssskin that covered Death’sss heart. To ussse it isss asss clossse asss one can get to touching Death without crosssssing that lassst thressshold,_ ‡ Mini hisses reverently. Hermione grimaces at the thought of being under a God’s skin, and immediately her thoughts turn to Harry.

‡ _Doesss long exxxposssure effect the wearer at all?_ ‡ Hermione demands, and Mini thinks about it, then shrugs.

‡ _Perhapsss, or perhapsss not. If that isss the cassse, then the whole Potter line ssshould all be claimed by Death._ ‡

“Harry’s going to die prematurely?” Hermione asks, and Amélie huffs.

_That Alpha is always causing trouble._

‡ _Maybe, who knowsss? What I do know for cccertain that Harry’sss death will be ssspecccial, and he might even have the ultimate honor of meeting Death Himssself,_ ‡ Mini says with a longing sigh, and Hermione and Amélie both give the Locket weird looks.

_The lassst Hallow isss ssstill misssssing,_

Amélie says to Hermione, who grimaces. On top of being a Horcrux, her old necklace _Tearful Joy_ was also the Resurrection Stone. It boggled her to know that at one point in her life, all three Hallows were at Hogwarts for a long stretch of time. Even more miraculous is the fact that she has access to all of them.

_I think Fate is throwing us a bone,_

Amélie muses.

“If they were, Luna would be here,” Hermione says, and Mini hisses wordlessly at that.

‡ _The Resssurrection Stone isss sssafe with your Ssseer._ ‡

 _Just use your_ Revol Key _and Apparate to her side if you want her here,_

Amélie sighs exasperatedly. Hermione holds in a sigh of her own, and she raises her left wrist up to her eye level. Honestly, Hermione’s fairly certain that if Luna is going to such lengths to stay hidden, she would probably have blocked the Apparation feature on her _Revol Key_.

Clenching four fingers to activate the _Key_ , it heat-flashes, and Hermione focuses on Luna. Twisting, she lets out a little grunt when she falls on her side, and the _Revol Key_ deactivates, unable to Disapparate her away.

“Knew it wouldn’t work,” Hermione drawls, and Amélie huffs.

_It was worth a shot._

There’s a brief moment where the night silence falls over them, and then Amélie breaks it again.

_Let’s leave to hunt the next Horcrux now._

“What?” Hermione frowns, and she glances up at her sleeping daughter. Amélie rolls her eyes.

_Let’s go already, the faster we finish this for Jean, the faster I can have my own body,_

“Really? You’re not going to destroy Horcruxes because there’s a terrorist organisation gaining power over the magical world, but because our soul guide asked you to?” Hermione asks snidely, and she senses Amélie stick out her tongue.

_Exactly, Jean’s entire existence is to assist us, so if she wants us to obliterate a few dark artifacts, then I know it’ll benefit us,_

Amélie says slowly in a patronizing way.

“We can’t just leave now—”

_Sure we can, Meissa’s dead asleep, your Familiars can take care of her, and no one in this House wants to talk to you,_

Amélie says succinctly, and Hermione knows that she’s right.

‡ _What isss ssshe telling you?_ ‡ Tyche hisses.

‡ _You’d only be going to Hogwartsss’ Room of Requirement, it will be quick and easssy hunt,_ ‡ Mini hisses.

‡ _What? There’sss a Horcruxxx in Hogwartsss?!_ ‡ Tyche hisses, shocked, and Err’sh smacks his wing over her mouth.

*The chick is sleeping!* He whistles softly.

*Anyway—I don’t think you should go until you—and your twin—make peace with Daphne and Draco. Otherwise the tension between you three could be unfixable,* Err’sh whistles quietly.

_I’d rather not be yelled at in the middle of the night,_

Amélie grumbles.

‡ _It probably would make you lesssss dissstracted on your hunt,_ ‡ Mini hisses to herself.

‡ _That’sss actually not a bad idea,_ ‡ Tyche hisses, and Err’sh gives her a side glare.

*Thank you, Tyche, for the obvious underhanded compliment.*

Tyche just shrugs.

*You should talk with Daphne first,* Err’sh whistles to Hermione. She purses her lips, thinking about it.

“She’s probably asleep right now,”

_Doubt it. Not with all that pent up aggression,_

Her twin drawls.

“And whose fault was that, _Amélie?_ ” Hermione snaps.

 _Look, I can_ obliviate _the real memories, and—_

“No! We are not doing that!” Hermione growls.

‡ _Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss? [Brood-Queen-Mother?]_ ‡ Meissa hisses in a groggy voice. Hermione mentally flips Amélie off, and she walks over to her daughter. Tyche and Err’sh shuffle out of the way to let Hermione sit on the side of the bed.

“Sorry Mei, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Hermione says soothingly. Meissa yawns, and she rolls over to face Hermione.

‡ _Twin isss loud,_ ‡ her daughter grumbles, and Hermione and her Familiars share a look.

“You can hear her?” Hermione asks, brushing the wisps of hair out of the way of Meissa’s eyes. Her daughter doesn’t even bother to open her eyes as she replies, and it’s such a Bella thing that Hermione can’t help but smile.

‡ _Twin’sss sssoul sssound isss loud._ ‡

“Soul sound?” Hermione mutters under her breath to Amélie, who shrugs.

_Don’t ask me, you’re the one who created her._

Hermione’s about to snap back at her twin, when Meissa cracks open her eyes, and Hermione sees they’re glowing faintly.

‡ _Why do wolvesss howl at the moon?_ ‡ Meissa asks in a tired voice.

‡ _The Moon isss their Goddesssss, although ssshe’sss Pagan ssso Ssshe’sss not very notable,_ ‡ Mini hisses from the floor.

_I never pegged her to be anti-Pagan. Didn’t Morgana grow up in the time of druids?_

Hermione ignores Amélie’s baffled musings.

‡ _Moon isss niccce, ssshe wantsss to talk with you,_ ‡ Meissa yawns wider this time.

“You can tell me in the morning, right now you need to go to bed,” Hermione murmurs, but her daughter shakes her head, and her eyes glow a little brighter.

‡ _But Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss! [Brood-Queen-Mother!] Moon wantsss you to tame the Tiger Queen!_ ‡ Meissa exclaims passionately.

_Rozanica’s tail-feathers, how are there so many people with royal animal titles? We don’t even know a Tiger Queen!_

Amélie groans.

“Meissa, it’s way past your bedtime, now, you get some rest, and I’ll talk with the Tiger Queen tomorrow,” Hermione says, and Meissa instantly perks up.

‡ _Promissse?_ ‡

“I can’t say I will promise since I don’t know who Tiger Queen is, but I’ll try,” Hermione replies, and her daughter nods.

‡ _Okay, I’ll tell Moon . . ._ ‡ Meissa trails off as her eyes flutter, and soon she’s fast asleep again.

* * *

*Well that was interesting,* Err’sh whistles.

‡ _Are we jussst going to ignore the fact that our little Adder isss posssssibly talking with a Goddesss?!_ ‡ Tyche hisses.

_The snake has a point,_

Amélie drawls.

“Alright, we’re going somewhere else to let Mei sleep peacefully,” Hermione says, and she scopes up Mini, and the two Hallows. Giving her daughter a kiss on the head, she holds the door open for Tyche to slither out and for Err’sh to glide onto her shoulders.

Walking through the quiet halls of Grimmauld Place to her room, Hermione pauses when she hears muffled noises coming from Daphne’s room.

_You’re not seriously going to talk with her, are you? She hates you,_

Amélie sing-songs annoyingly.

“Tyche, will you put this back with Harry’s things?” Hermione whispers, offering the Invisibility Cloak to the Horned Serpent.

‡ _He won't even notice it was missing,_ ‡ Tyche hisses, and her forehead gem pulses white, and the Deathly Hallow disappears. Her Familiar shivers a little and Hermione crouches down, concerned.

‡ _I’m alright Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother], the Hallow’s magic jussst feelsss a little odd,_ ‡ Tyche hisses, but she’s still shivering.

“Err’sh,” Hermione murmurs.

*I’ll keep her warm in your room,* the Condor whistles, flapping off her shoulders to gently pluck Tyche. She tosses him Le Fey’s Locket—which hisses sharply at being tossed—and he catches it before he soars into her room.

Hermione takes a deep breath, and stands up. Turning, she faces Daphne’s door, the muffled noises still continuing. Briefly, she glances down at the Elder’s Wand still in her hand.

_You might want to hide that,_

Amélie drawls.

»I know,« Hermione replies, and she duplicates her wand sheath for her left arm. Stowing the Deathly Hallow away, she looks up at the door again.

_Not too late to leave now. There’s no shame in no confrontation,_

Amélie coaxes.

»Since when are you so scared to talk to her?« Hermione asks, and Amélie bristles.

_I just don’t want to talk to her!_

»So you admit you’re scared?« Hermione needles, and her twin growls at her.

_Fine, you asked for it!_

Hermione gasps as her control is yanked from her, and before she knows it, vertigo overtakes her and she falls into her own mind.

* * *

Amélie knocks on the door, and then opens it before anyone can answer it.

“Alright, Hermione and you need to talk so let’s get this over—” Amélie’s abrupt entrance comes to a screeching halt when she realizes that Daphne is half naked on her bed sitting across from an equally indecently clothed Andromeda.

“. . . With . . .” Amélie trails off,and Daphne’s incredulous expression instantly morphs into anger as she hastily throws on her blouse and skirt.

“Why didn’t you knock?!”

“I did!”

“Then wait for me to answer it, Merlin damn you!”

“Daphne, remember the techniques I taught you—” Andromeda says slowly as she cautiously dons her clothes.

“Techniques?! What the fuck Andromeda!” Amélie snarls, a surge of possessiveness for Daphne overwhelming her. Her aggressive Alfā pheromones pump out, and Andromeda wrinkles her nose a little.

“Hey! Don’t talk to Andy like that!” Daphne leaps to her feet.

_Amélie, just calm down—_

Hermione grits out, but Amélie can feel her struggling to not lash out.

“What are you doing here?!” Amélie demands, taking a step towards Andromeda. The older Beta sighs, and raises her hands in a non-threatening way.

“Nothing like you’re imagining, I assure you. For the sake of my client’s confidentiality, I can only tell you we were discussing methods of settling one’s magic.”

“Oh yeah, and I’m sure that involves removing clothes too, how _convenient_ ,” Amélie sneers, and she enjoys the little thrill when the older Beta flinches from a harsh poke from her pheromones.

“Stop it! And for the record, yes! Magic-settling does require the removal of clothes!” Daphne snaps, her own angry Beta pheromones leaking from her. Amélie growls deep in her chest, and instinctively she unleashes her Thrall, pooling it around the two of them. Daphne lets out a tiny gasp, and she straightens her spine defiantly.

“Seeing as you came in here with the intention to talk, why don’t I leave you two to sort out your lover’s spat,” Andromeda says, and both Amélie and Daphne whip their heads towards the older Beta.

“Excuse me?” Amélie asks in a disgruntled tone.

“Andy!” Daphne exclaims in a betrayed tone.

_What?!_

Hermione shrieks, making Amélie wince.

“I don’t believe I misspoke,” Andromeda says as she walks towards the door. Daphne crosses her arms—Amélie senses Hermione’s attention go towards the Beta’s chest—and she glares up at Amélie.

“Absolutely not! I don’t want _her_ in my room!”

“Darling, you’re in my house, so I can kick you out whenever I want,” Amélie interrupts rudely.

“Well it’s a shitty house—and I’m moving out!”

“Both of you _sit down_ and _shut up_.”

Amélie and Daphne both look up at the sudden Alpha voice that Andromeda just used.

“How’d you do that?” Daphne asks in a shocked and awed tone, her body already moving to obey. Amélie merely bares her teeth as the older Beta passes. Andromeda is smart enough to keep a clear distance between them as she passes.

“Perks of being a Black, dear,” Andromeda says over her shoulder, and just like that, she shuts the door, and Amélie and Daphne are alone.

Sticking her tongue out at the door, Amélie saunters to the four-poster bed, and leans against one of the posts. Staring snidely down at the Beta, Amélie curls in her Thrall, but leaves her pheromones to linger. It’s a childish thing to do, but Amélie isn’t above watching Daphne struggle to sit comfortably on her own bed.

_Amélie, the door,_

Hermione starts, but Amélie mentally shushes her. Although she does shoot a silencing ward at the door.

“You got seven minutes to spill your reasons why you hate Hermione, starting now,” Amélie drawls, and Daphne splutters angrily.

“Excuse me?!”

“Six minutes,” Amélie taunts, and Hermione growls warningly at her.

“I don’t have a problem with Hermione! I’m still forgiving her—it’s _you_ who I can’t stand!” Daphne snarls, leaping to her feet. Amélie rolls her eyes, and inspects her already flawless nails.

“Duly noted.”

“How did you even come about?! What are _you?_ ”

“I’m Présage to my enemies,” Amélie smirks, and Daphne fumes.

“ _I’m_ the enemy?!”

_Amélie, stop antagonizing her. Let me talk with her,_

Hermione growls.

“Nah, you’ll probably try to peacefully push this to the side,” Amélie replies out loud, and she watches as a light sparks in Daphne’s eyes.

“Hermione’s watching this, isn’t she?”

“Give the witch a broom, I think she’s got it,” Amélie mocks. Daphne scowls.

“Switch back, I don’t want to talk to you,” Daphne orders, and Amélie makes a show about thinking about it.

“Hm, nope. It’s my turn,” Amélie smirks.

“Well then, what do you want? How long is ‘your turn’ going to last?” Daphne huffs, and the question throws Amélie for a loop. Now that she and Hermione have a stronger connection, she never thought about staying for longer instances. She always assumed she didn’t have the strength to, but now . . .

“Hey, hey, what are you plotting?” Daphne snaps her fingers in front of Amélie.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing that concerns you.”

“The first time we met, you tried to kill Draco and I, so, yes, I am going to worry!”

 _Amélie, can you_ please _at least_ pretend _to be civil?_

Hermione hisses.

“Fine. What do you not like about me?” Amélie groans, flopping down on Daphne’s bed. The Beta scrambles away from her, scowling.

“Oh, let’s see, you tried to kill me!”

“That’s all? Wow, and here I thought you had a larger list,” Amélie drawls dryly, and she lets out a loud yelp when she’s hit with a _Stinging Jinx_ on the neck. Leaping up, Amélie lunges towards Daphne, grabbing her wrists and pinning the Beta under her.

“Let me go!” Daphne shrieks, thrashing, but Amélie just drops her weight more comfortably on the Beta.

“See? Here I was trying to be civil like you said, and she pulls a wand on me, some friends you have,” Amélie says to Hermione, and her words make Daphne freeze.

_You tried to kill her! Daphne! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!_

Hermione roars.

“That’s exactly why. I swear this one breaks through your conditioning more than the actual girl you love,” Amélie drawls, and Daphne’s breath hitches.

“Oh sorry, did you not know that? My bad,” Amélie sneers down at the now still Beta.

_Stop being such an ass or I’ll drag you back down here!_

Hermione growls, and Amélie scoffs.

“As if—” Amélie gasps when she feels a faint tug in her mind. It’s a weak pull, not nearly enough to switch them out, but the fact that Hermione’s learning to do that scares Amélie.

“Hermione loves Fleur.”

Amélie blinks, and looks down at Daphne. The Beta’s is deceptively calm, and Amélie can’t even sense any emotions in her guarded eyes.

“Yes, as much as she can anyway.”

Daphne tenses under her.

“What did you mean when you said ‘conditioning’?” The Beta asks, and Amélie feels Hermione’s interest for her answer.

“Does it have to do with her Mum?”

Amélie stiffens as Daphne hits the nail on the head.

“It’s none of your concern,” Amélie says coldly, and she leans up, letting go of Daphne’s wrists.

“You made it my concern when you said I break through whatever conditioning Eto has put on Hermione!”

“Well, now I’m telling you that it’s not any of your concern,” Amélie huffs, and Daphne lets out a high pitched scream-squeal.

“Merlin! Why are you so bloody difficult to talk to?!”

“I think it’s because we both mutually hate each other,” Amélie says, and Daphne growls at her.

“It was a rhetorical question! Just—go back to whatever hell you came from and give me back Hermione!”

Amélie smirks down at the Beta.

“But what if Hermione doesn’t want to talk to you?”

_Amélie, what are you doing?! Of course I want to talk to her!_

Hermione yells.

“You’re lying,” Daphne says in a quieter voice.

“Hm, seeing as you’re not the one sharing a body with her, you have no idea what she’s feeling,” Amélie continues.

“I know enough to know Hermione’s my best friend,” Daphne says firmly, and Amélie raises an eyebrow.

“Darling, Hermione has at least five other best friends, shall I name them? Oh let’s, see there’s Harold, Neville, Luna, Fleur, oh, and me.”

“You’re not her best friend,” Daphne says flatly.

“Yeah, I’ll give you that one. Point is, she doesn’t put much emphasis on who’s her ‘best friend’. The fact that she slept with you doesn’t make you special either. We’re Veela, we have sex with others openly.”

Daphne’s eyes widen at her words.

“You’re a Veela too?”

“Hermione, I think your best friend is another dumb blond,” Amélie drawls, smirking as she bats away Daphne’s wild swinging arms. When there’s no reply, Amélie frowns.

»Hermione?« She spears her voice into her mind, searching for Hermione. She can’t even sense her twin in the Tree of Life, it’s as if she’s alone for the first time in her life. And it’s weirdly horrifying.

»Where did you go?« Amélie asks again, and before she can send her conscious through a light probe, hands grasp her shirt collar.

“Why Hermione? Why are you sharing a body? When did this happen? How do I get rid of you?” Daphne asks her questions in a rush, and Amélie slowly curls her hands around the Beta’s wrists. She doesn’t know why, but in this moment, this position; Amélie straddling Daphne with the Beta on her back; Daphne’s eyes are hypnotizing.

“Did you know you have lime green flicks in your eyes?” Amélie murmurs, and her heart starts to pound wildly as soon as she shuts her mouth. Daphne’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, although a rosy blush heats up her face under Amélie’s intense scrutiny.

“E-excuse me? What does that have to do with anything?” The Beta stammers. Amélie’s eyes drag slowly down Daphne’s face, cataloguing everything as her body gets hot. Everything about the Beta is suddenly so intriguing, it’s pulling at her as if Daphne was in heat—which is impossible.

Her eyes trail down pale flesh to the brutal claiming scar on the Beta’s jugular. Amélie barely remembers Hermione doing that, back when she let that parasitical _thing_ in their body that blocked Amélie from gaining any control. All at once, Amélie hates that scar, she hates how it came about, and most of all she hates that someone else did it.

A change in Daphne’s beautiful scent brings Amélie back to the present.

“. . . Hermione?” Daphne asks hopefully, and a knife seems to twist in her chest at the name. It’s always about _Hermione_.

“ _No_ ,” Amélie locks her eyes with Daphne’s, “and it isn’t Présage either,” she growls. Daphne’s eyes are wide, and she lets out a shaky breath.

“Y-yeah? Are there three of you now?”

Amélie smirks at her, swiping her tongue across her bottom lip, her ego soaring when she sees Daphne’s flush get redder.

“You’re outta luck darling, it’s just Hermione, and _me_ ,” Amélie purrs, nosing he column of the Beta’s throat.

“Wh-what are you d-doing? I thought you hated me?” Daphne’s confused voice climbs two octaves when Amélie nips at her clavicles.

“I never hated you, darling,” Amélie husks as she breathes in the salty tang of Daphne’s skin right where shoulder meets neck.

“But—”

—. —

 _Obliviate_ = Memory Charm

 _Aculeus_ = Stinging Jinx (Latin: Sting)


	13. Lost And Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Significant talking happens between Hermione, Daphne, and Amélie

“Less talk, more kisses,” Amélie whispers silkily, and she starts to steadily nibble her way up Daphne’s throat with hot and heavy kisses and nipping teeth. The Beta lets out a shaky gasp, her whines straining to be heard behind her clenched lips. Her wriggling stirs an intense heat in Amélie’s core, especially when Daphne squeezes her legs together while futilely trying to buck Amélie off.

Amélie takes a brief second to smirk down at the flushed and sweating Beta under her, her hands pinned over her head by Amélie’s, and her white-blond hair spilling over the pillow like a stain of white blood. Amélie’s Alfā pheromones change from prickling displeasure to seductive lures. Daphne instinctively responds in kind, releasing receptive Beta pheromones.

Then Amélie’s lowering her head down, staring deeply into Daphne’s eyes, waiting for the slightest intention of denial. Her lips are millimeters from the Beta’s, and still, she doesn’t tell Amélie to stop. If anything, her pupils dilate, and her breathing gets faster. The second Amélie lips touch Daphne’s, it’s like lightning short circuiting along her spine, each bolt humming with exquisite pleasure.

They both moan, and in that instant, they both crash into each other, mouths moving against each other in a desperate dance. Amélie drops her full weight on the Beta, and Daphne drags Amélie’s tongue into her mouth, arching up. Amélie can barely think straight; which she isn’t; and she groans as their tongues duel.

Digging her hips into Daphne’s sends a full body shudder through the Beta, and Amélie greedily swallows Daphne’s loud whimpers. When the Beta flexes her arms in an attempt to free them from Amélie’s steel grip, Amélie remembers she can be doing way more than just snogging the breath out of her Mate.

Letting go of Daphne’s wrists, her hands immediately are everywhere, while the Beta throws her arms around Amélie’s neck, holding her closer. Their mouths finally part when Daphne manages to twist her head away, gulping for breath. Amélie doesn’t mind, as she latches her teeth around the Beta’s ear, tugging and licking.

Daphne squirms more, trying to hide her gasping moans in Amélie’s shoulder, although it doesn’t really work. Amélie lets out a low groan when she braves a tentative touch under Daphne’s shirt, one hand planted squarely on her Mate’s stomach and the other teasingly creeping slowly under the Beta’s skirt waistband.

Daphne seems to notice the pointed hesitancy, and she shyly turns her head towards Amélie, and they lock eyes again. Amélie can’t help but preen at the beautifully debauched sight of her Mate, and her mouth instantly waters at the thought of what Daphne would look like completely bare.

“It’s okay— _ooohhhhh,_ ” whatever Daphne’s going to say dissolves in a loud moan when Amélie’s hand cups her center. Amélie startles a little—she didn’t realize her hand was even moving—and she starts to draw back, but Daphne seizes her arm, stilling it.

“Stay, please, stay,” the Beta pants raggedly, and Amélie’s eyes widen at the begging. Her body smolders at the begging, and in response her fingers quickly locate Daphne’s clit and—

»I can’t believe it, I did it!«

* * *

Amélie lets out an air-shattering roar, her hands whipping out from under her Mate’s clothes; Daphne wails at the loss of sudden lack of stimulation and pulls at Amélie. Crouching over the Beta protectively, Amélie snarls furiously at the intruder, a purple haze nearly clouding her vision in her rage.

»Amélie It’s me! Hermione!«

The words don’t mean anything to her at the moment, and her Thrall unfurls from her threateningly, needle-thing tendrils ready to skewer into meat.

»Mum! Talk to her!«

Amélie rears up, ready to launch herself, but a soft hand suddenly cups her cheek, and her attention snaps back to her Mate. Daphne stares up at her pleadingly, saying sweet nothings to her, but her scent is what catches Amélie, and nearly tears her heart in two. The Beta’s trying to hide it, but Amélie can smell the sharp odor of fear.

It settles like a stone in her gut, and all her rage winks away at the sight of her own Mate’s fear of her. Remorse swamps her, and Amélie lowers down to Daphne’s level, curling her body inwards in an attempt to look small and nonthreatening. The Beta’s other hand shakily raises to join its pair, and Amélie softly whines apologetically.

Amélie swears she can hear her Mate ask her, “Are you alright?” through those green eyes, and she nods. Daphne lets out a small, relieved smile, and Amélie leans into her Mate’s touch when the scent of fear disappears.

Movement in the corner of her eye makes Amélie jerk her head quickly towards it, but not fast enough to jostle Daphne’s hands off her face. She blinks for a second, not fully aware of what she’s looking at, until Daphne gasps.

“ _H-Hermione?!_ ”

Hermione waves her semi-corporeal hand hesitantly, and grins awkwardly.

»Hey, Daphne.«

Amélie blinks again, and then she screams bloody murder as she launches herself at her twin

* * *

»I CAN’T _BELIEVE_ THE UTTER _NERVE_ —NO, THE _AUDACITY_ —OF YOU TO DO THIS TO ME! _ME!_ CAN’T I HAVE _SOMETHING_ OF _MY OWN_ WITHOUT _YOU_ BARGING IN AND MAKING IT ALL ABOUT _YOU_ FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, YOU ROZANICA THRICE-DAMED, _CLUSTERFUCKING_ ASSHOLE _BASTARD_ WASTE OF SPACE—«

“Um, Présage?”

“ _WHAT?!_ ” Amélie looks over her shoulder at her Mate, whose concerned expression quickly morphs into an angry one.

“Don’t you dare take your fury out on me!” The Beta growls, leaping off the bed and Amélie ducks her head, properly chastised.

“I—” she starts to say, but Daphne cuts her off.

“Furthermore—get off Hermione!” The Beta crosses her arms, and widens her stance, glaring down at Amélie. Amélie grits her teeth when her twin’s name comes out of her Mate’s mouth in such a protective manner. But she silently obeys, and she stiffly gets to her feet, glaring holes into the floorboards as her hands clench and unclench.

She hears Hermione stand up, and Daphne’s soft sigh of relief.

»For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I interrupted, if I had known—«

“You’d what?” Amélie growls, staring hard at Hermione.

»I wouldn’t have done it. Now that we’re not in each other’s heads, I think I can feel a Mate bond with Fleur, so I completely understand why you’re angry,« Hermione says sincerely.

Amélie huffs and crosses her arms, but her twin’s words wriggle under her skin.

“Speak in English. You know Daphne can’t understand Velian,” Amélie orders, and Hermione sighs.

»I can’t—physically, I really can’t—Mum said that only telepathic languages work since I’m astral-projecting,« Hermione explains, and Amélie frowns. Jean never taught her how to astral-project. A dark thought whispers that Jean will always favor Hermione, just like everyone else. Her hands clench at her arms tightly at that, leaving crescent-shaped divots in her skin.

“Hey.”

Amélie glances down at Daphne, who had walked over and placed her hand over one of Amélie’s.

“Whatever it is, everything’s going to be okay,” the Beta says soothingly, and Amélie relaxes under her Mate’s touch.

“I gather you can’t speak English right now,” Daphne says to Hermione, who nods. Daphne takes a deep breath, and lets it out.

“I have so many questions, and you two are going to answer them, are we clear?” Daphne says firmly, taking a step back from Amélie. She misses her Mate’s touch as soon as she’s left without it.

»Ask away,« Hermione says, giving Daphne a thumbs up.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” Amélie murmurs, and Daphne nods.

“Okay . . . If you’re known as ‘Présage’ to your enemies, then who are you to those who aren’t?” Daphne asks, staring at Amélie.

“My true name is Amélie, Alfā Amélie Mendonica,” Amélie replies calmly, even though her insides are a tangled mess of nerves. Daphne blinks at that, and then she gasps.

“Wait a minute! Are you the ‘Amélie’ who sent Bartholomew to rescue us?!”

“Yes,” Amélie says.

“So you set Dementors on Draco and I only to send the undead Werewolf Killer to rescue us? Did you have a change of heart or did someone convince you?”

Amélie cringes at her Mate’s sharp, cold voice, and a part of her wilts at the lack of trust her Mate has in her.

“I . . . I did it because I wanted to. You touched something in me that I knew I had to save, and not because Hermione asked me to,” Amélie says firmly, and Daphne nods slowly at her answer.

“Alright, Amélie, I believe you,” Daphne says, and Amélie brightens when her name is uttered. It sends her a little thrill through her body.

“Now, how are you two connected?”

* * *

Hermione lights her hand on Cursed Fire, and writes out the answer in the air, then flips the word around for Daphne.

“ _Twins?!_ ”

“Surprise,” Amélie grumbles, and Daphne splutters for words.

“B-b-but—how?!”

 _Amélie’s body was dying when she was a baby, so now we share a body,_ Hermione writes, and Daphne’s jaw drops again.

“ _Share?!_ Wait—no.”

Hermione and Amélie share a nervous look as Daphne pinches the bridge of her nose, and breaths slowly.

“Are you telling me, that when Hermione and I were having sex, _you_ were watching the whole time?”

Amélie’s eyes darken at those words, and she sends a quick glare at Hermione.

“No, I delved deeper into my mind to give Hermione privacy whenever she decided to fuck,” Amélie huffs looking away from Daphne. If she had looked, she would have seen the contemplative expression the Beta had.

“Why didn’t your family make your presence known? Sure, it’s strange that you two are sharing a body, but there is weirder magic in the world,” Daphne asks.

 _Until recently, I actually didn’t know Amélie existed,_ Hermione writes.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Our Maman decided it would be best if Hermione didn’t know, just in case she would try to keep me locked away in her mind. She told me it was Hermione’s fault I was stuck bodiless, and while that is true, it wasn’t the way she painted it,” Amélie says flatly.

“The more I hear about your Mother the more I find reasons to dislike her,” Daphne growls under her breath, which makes both Hermione and Amélie awkwardly shift on their feet.

“I’m slowly coming to realize that she had many . . . Flaws,” Amélie says slowly, as if pained to say those words.

»Eto was more of your mother than she was to me,« Hermione says to Amélie, which makes her twin frown.

“So . . . where do we go from here? Hermione can’t do whatever she’s doing forever, and you and I—” Daphne cuts herself off, confusion swamping her features.

»You have to tell her Amélie, right now, while we’re clearing the air,« Hermione urges her twin, or the situation of Amélie being Daphne’s Mate while Hermione isn’t but Amélie and Hermione share a body will make things extremely awkward.

“Daphne?” Amélie asks.

“Yes, Amélie?” Daphne replies.

“We’re Mates.”

* * *

Hermione wasn’t expecting Amélie to be so blunt about revealing one of the most important things of a Veela’s life, but in retrospect, it fit Amélie’s brusque attitude. There’s absolute silence as Daphne tilts her head, and looks Amélie up and down.

“Alright.”

Amélie nearly stumbles at the reply, and she stares at Daphne with huge eyes.

“A-alright? You’re not upset?”

»I’ve learned to take things in strides when it comes to Daphne, since she always manages to surprise me,« Hermione drawls, but she’s ignored.

“Of course not, why would I be? Do you want me to be upset?” Daphne asks.

“No! I—it’s just, normally new Mates are very, um,” Amélie stammers, fumbling over her words and growing excitement.

 _She means to say that new Mates are usually daunted at the prospect of having someone who’s essentially their soulmate,_ Hermione writes. Daphne squares her shoulders, and marches into Amélie’s personal space, entwining her fingers with the shocked Veela Alfā’s.

“I’m alright with being your Mate, Amélie. I want to explore this feeling I have whenever you look at me, whenever you touch me. I won’t lie, I still have a one-sided crush on Hermione; I can’t just will that away in an instant; and I don’t know if that crush is the reason why I want to explore things with you,” Daphne says softly, and Amélie listens attentively.

Hermione looks away from the pair, giving them the semblance of privacy.

“I know things aren’t going to be easy, with you sharing a body with Hermione and all, but I think . . . I think that I want to try. I want to see if I can love you for you, and . . . I want to see if I can be loved wholly,” Daphne whispers.

Hermione hears Amélie wrap Daphne in a tight hug, and she turns around.

 _You ought to know, we’re close to our goal of Amélie having her own body,_ Hermione writes, and Daphne gasps.

“Really? What do you need? Can I help?”

Amélie opens her mouth to reply, but suddenly Kreacher pops into the room. The old House-Elf does a double-take when he sees them, but he turns to Amélie, groveling.

“Mistress, you’s must flee! Mistress Black has sworn to kill you’s!”

* * *

“WHAT?!” They all yell, and the Elf quivers on the floor fearfully.

“Head Black has awoken, but she’s acting most strange! Mistress Black is out to exact revenge! Kreacher has warded the hall, but Kreacher cannot not listen when summed for long! You’s must flee!” He wails, clutching his long ears.

»Bella’s awake?!”« Hermione gasps.

“Let her come! I’ll kill her!” Amélie snarls.

“You can’t kill your cousin!” Daphne snaps.

A sudden _BOOM_ shakes the entire house, sending Amélie and Daphne to the ground. Hermione seems to be unaffected by the physical movement.

“You need to go!” Daphne says.

“No! I’m not leaving you, I just found you!” Amélie retorts. Another _BOOM_ shakes dust from the ceiling.

»Narcissa is on a warpath, Amélie, besides, we were going to leave anyway!« Hermione says, glancing warily at the door. Kreacher suddenly lets out a low, pained moan.

“Head Black calls Kreacher, but he’s can’t, he’s has to protect Mistress,” he groans.

“I won’t have you get hurt!” Daphne shouts.

“I’m not leaving, and that’s final!”

»Amélie!«

Amélie looks up, confusion taking over when she sees Hermione’s scared expression. What none of them can see, except for Hermione, is a large cloud of highly negative energy compressed in the body of one Omega Narcissa Black stalking their way. She can see it through the walls, pushing at the wards Kreacher placed.

»We have to go, now,« Hermione says shakily, and Amélie grimaces, looking down at Daphne. Another _BOOM_ shakes the room, and Hermione sees Amélie make up her mind.

“Kreacher!” She barks.

“Yes Mistress?” The Elf looks up at Amélie.

“Protect Daphne at all costs, do you understand?”

“Yes Mistress! Kreacher shall obey!” He leaps to his feet, determination shining in his large, bulbous eyes.

“Stay safe, you hear me?” Daphne demands, and Hermione feels the instant that the enraged Narcissa breaks through Kreacher’s wards.

»Time to go!« She reaches for Amélie, twisting to Disapparate just as Amélie starts to reply to her Mate.

* * *

Hermione and Amélie appear in the demolished ruins of the Shrieking Shack, and Hermione lets out a wheeze as she suddenly disappears. Amélie gapes at where her twin was, and then a migraine slams into her. Groaning, she collapses on broken floorboards, clutching her head as her mind is pummeled and stretched.

A wave of what feels like hail ricochets in her skull, and then Amélie’s thrown back into her mind as Hermione’s thrust back in control.

* * *

Hermione rubs her eyes, groaning as the dull headache pounds against her temples. Taking deep breaths helps lessen the pressure on her head. Hermione slowly sits up, wincing as she does so.

“Sorry for that,” Hermione mutters, and Amélie growls wordlessly, giving Hermione the silent treatment. Turning her attention away from her moody twin, Hermione stands and carefully walks over a shattered window, peering through it cautiously. Hogwarts looks the same as ever on the outside, but Hermione almost can feel the dark aura emanating from the castle.

Her thoughts turn to her House mates, and all the rest of the student population, but she pushes those thoughts to the side. Being distracted right now could be disastrous. Walking over to the gaping hole where a wall of the Shack used to stand, Hermione morphs into a Barn Owl, and flies out of the Shack.

Soaring high around the turrets, she’s struck by the realization that Hogwarts is utterly silent. There’s no rush of students, no laughter, no voices, just thick silence.

_We have to help Hogwarts, we are her Champion, and we must free her._

Amélie declares out of the blue.

*Alright, but after we get what we came for,* Hermione hoots, and she flies towards the seventh floor of the castle.

Swooping by an open window, Hermione quickly glances in to see an empty classroom, The N.E.W.T. Transfiguration classroom if she remembers correctly. She flies into the classroom, landing on one of the many desks.

Morphing back into her normal form, Hermione keeps a sharp ear for anyone approaching as she creeps out of the classroom. The halls are entirely deserted, which makes her more paranoid than anything else. In no time, she’s standing in front of the wall where the Room of Requirement is.

»Ready?« Hermione asks, and Amélie huffs.

_Stop stalling and just open it._

“I want to enter the Room of Hidden Things,” Hermione says clearly, pacing in front of the wall and repeating her wish. The second she finishes speaking, a simple wooden door appears, and Hermione hurries inside. Wishing the door away, Hermione turns to face aisles upon aisles of all sorts of objects piled ceiling high.

_This place is a hoarders dream,_

Amélie mutters, and Hermione agrees with her. Crouching down, she places her hand on the floor.

“Hogwarts? Are you there?” She whispers, casting her magic out into the stone. The stone warms under her touch, and all at once, Hermione can feel the distinctive consciousness of Hogwarts wrapping around her in a welcoming embrace.

“I need your help,” Hermione says, and the magic of Hogwarts swirls off, tugging at Hermione to follow. Grinning, she jogs after the magic, making her way deeper into the never ending room.

* * *

After a minute or two, Hermione realizes that Hogwarts isn’t showing her any of the aisles.

_You should have been more specific when you asked for help,_

Amélie grumbles.

»True, but we have to trust that Hogwarts knows what it’s doing,« Hermione replies, and Hogwarts suddenly stops. Bobbing up and down, it suddenly leaps up, hovering by an odd looking platform.

Morphing out her Veela wings, Hermione flies up, and nearly drops out of the air when a Ghost suddenly appears centimeters from her face. Fortunately, Hogwarts catches her, and plops her safely on the makeshift platform.

“My apologies, Champion, it was not my intention to startle you,” The Ghost of Ravenclaw; the Grey Lady; says. Her apology doesn’t come off as much of an apology due to her bored, monotone voice.

_Why is she here?_

Amélie muses.

“It’s alright, you just gave a little shock, that’s all,” Hermione replies, folding her wings comfortably on her back.

“The item you seek is gone, Champion,” the Grey Lady continues as if Hermione didn’t speak.

“Wait, what? But I thought Ravenclaw’s Diadem was—”

“Was is correct, Champion. My Mother’s Diadem no longer pollutes Hogwarts’ glorious halls with its filthy stain,” the Ghost drawls.

_Great! Where the bloody fuck is it now?! Why can’t a single Horcrux hunt go as planned?! At this rate I’ll never have any alone time with my Mate!_

Amélie rages.

“Do you know where it is? Hermione asks, and the Grey Lady narrows her eyes.

“Do you seek to destroy it?” She demands, and Hermione nods.

“I do.”

There’s a brief minute of silence as the Grey Lady surveys Hermione, and then slowly nods.

“An Alpha from a distant land discovered it, and spirited it away,” the Ghost pauses, almost unsure of herself.

“She too promised to destroy it, but I wonder if she upheld her vow . . . You must find this Alpha, and destroy the cursed thing.”

_Of course we have to hunt down some bint daft enough to not destroy a Horcrux the instant they discover one,_

Amélie snarks.

“I’ll find her. Do you know her name?” Hermione asks, and the Grey Lady nods gravely.

“The Alpha you seek is the odd owner of the name ‘Thalia Carrow’.”


	14. Forgiven Not Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts is liberated!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also this chapter's title is a song from "The Corrs"

“Carrow?” Hermione repeats dumbly. The Grey Lady nods, and she looks out across the Room of Hidden Things.

“Yes. Even though she was Sorted into Gryffindor, she sought me out,” the Ghost says. Hermione tilts her head at the hint of longing in the Grey Lady’s voice.

_Well. Now we know who Professor Carrow’s daughter is,_

Amélie says flatly.

“Can you tell me anything else about her?” Hermione presses, but the Grey Lady is lost in her own thoughts, a melancholy expression on her pale face.

_Forget the Ghost, we need to focus on finding Thalia,_

Amélie says, giving Hermione a mental nudge away from the Grey Lady.

“Did she tell you where she was going after she graduated?” Hermione asks Hogwarts’ magic, mentally asking the Room of Requirement for an exit out of it.

_Yeah, like it can tell you a location,_

Amélie snarks as Hermione leaves the Room through a door that suddenly appears.

“Well, if she talked to Ghosts, she might have talked to Hogwarts . . .” Hermione trails off when she realizes what she walked into. The door behind her disappears unnoticed to everyone except Amélie. Hermione blinks, staring at the large hall filled with a couple dozen students, all staring back at her with wide eyes.

An Omega boy leaps to his feet, his wand aimed at her heart.

“What happened to you during the Third Task of the I.W.O.R.?!” Neville says in a clear, authoritative voice.

“I died,” Hermione replies instantly, and he narrows his eyes. His hand twitches, and Hermione’s _Revol Key_ activates.

 _If Hermione is really in front of me, show your_ Key _,_ — Neville.

Hermione raises her hands, allowing gravity to pull her sleeve down to reveal the bracelet-cuff. Instantly, the Omega relaxes, lowering his wand with a large grin.

“It’s good to see you Hermione!” He says, striding over to hug her. As she reciprocates his hug, excited chatter spreads out among the students assembled, and Hermione realizes she recognizes a handful of those there.

“What’s all this?” She asks as Neville pulls back.

“Well, long story short, these are the newest members of the H.G.!” Neville states proudly, leading Hermione over a small group of older students.

“Are you staying for long?” Neville asks, and the rest of the small group—those of whom Hermione remembers as the Hogwarts royalty—perk up.

“Where have you been?” Beta Sally-Anne Perks, Beta of Hufflepuff asks.

“It’s good to see you,” Beta Parvati Patil, Queen of Gryffindor says.

“Are you really killing Death Eaters?” Omega Sue Li, Queen of Ravenclaw asks.

“Merlin, you could have waited a little to ask that,” Omega Hannah Abbott, Queen of Ravenclaw scolds.

_Well, aren’t they full of questions,_

Amélie yawns, obviously bored.

“There’s not much I can tell you for your safety, but that I am fighting against the Death Eaters,” Hermione replies, and the royal group falls silent.

“Erm, Hannah, ah, Elise is asking for you,” a small First year Hufflepuff awkwardly calls a respectful distance away from them.

“Oh, I’m coming, excuse me everyone,” Hannah says, and she follows the First year over to her friend. The Queen of Hufflepuff also kindly directs the rest of the students’ attention away from the royal group, expertly keeping the tension in the Room easygoing.

“So what can you tell us?” Sue asks, tiling her head.

“I’m looking for Alpha Thalia Carrow,” Hermione says, and no sooner does the name leave her lips, the rest of the royals give each other glances.

_Oh, now this is interesting. They know something important,_

Amélie says.

“Thalia isn’t affiliated with the Death Eaters, trust me,” Neville says firmly.

“I know, it’s just that she has something I have to find,” Hermione replies.

“What is it? Or can you not tell us?” Sally-Anne asks.

_Don’t tell them, it’s our hunt!_

Amélie says sharply, making Hermione wince.

“You need to know that Thalia—” Sue starts to say, but Parvati shushes her.

“We can’t! We promised!”

“Promised what?” Hermione asks, straightening up taller. Neville rubs the back of his neck, and lets out a troubled sigh.

“It’s not fair to Hermione, Parv, if she’s looking for Thals then she should be prepared,” he says, and Hermione switches her gaze to him.

“Prepare me for what?” She asks, her tone snappish.

“Hermione, there’s no easy way to say this, but—”

Sue’s interrupted by loud yells behind them. Falling through a quickly closing door, Alpha Ginny Weasley rolls on the floor to snuff the flames blazing on her robes. Immediately, students rush to her aid, dousing the fire, and Ginny leaps to her feet, panting hard.

“They got Omega Tracey Davis! Carrow’s assembling the whole school to make an example out of her!” The Alpha shouts, and nervous mutterings erupt.

“Carrow?” Hermione repeats, and Ginny blinks in shock for a few seconds before a wide smile broadens across her face.

“Hermione! Merlin, am I glad to see you!” The Alpha rushes forwards, giving Hermione a one-armed hug, and Hermione instantly smells Ginny’s new Werewolf scent.

“Where’s Leilaki?”

Ginny’s face darkens a little at her Mate’s name, and she turns away from Hermione.

“She’s fine, okay everyone! Code Green! Let’s hurry!” As soon as the Alpha barks out the order, everyone are up and bustling about. Even the rest of the royalty scatter, helping their Houses, all except Neville.

_Where are the rest of the Kings?_

Amélie mutters to Hermione.

“Thalia lives with her Mum in the Americas on the Eastern Coast, and she’s your—” the rest of Neville’s rushed sentence is drowned out of the sound of a deep, ominous horn. The H.G. members shudder at its summoning call, and Hermione knows what she has to do.

_Wait! No! I haven’t even agreed to this!_

Amélie shrieks, but Hermione’s already opened her mouth.

“Neville, I have a twin.”

* * *

The Omega flounders for words, confusion evident in his eyes.

_You bitch! Why the fuck did you tell him?!_

Amélie roars.

“People are going to want to know who you are once you get a body, you can’t hide your existence forever,” Hermione replies, making Neville even more confused.

“. . . Are you talking to your twin?” He asks.

“Yes, we share a body. She’s in my mind,” Hermione says casually, and Neville blinks slowly.

“Okay . . . How about you stay here and— _gah!_ ” The Omega nearly leaps out of his skin when Amélie astral-projects next to Hermione.

“Neville, this is Amélie—”

Another blow of the summoning horn sounds, and Ginny jogs towards them, her eyes glued to Amélie.

“You need to go Nev,” the Werewolf says, and he nods, hurrying over to a handful of H.G. members. Ginny glances at Amélie for a brief second, and then looks up at Hermione.

“Hermione, there’s no easy way to say this, but since you’re here, I need you to be our distraction.”

»Distraction? What are we? Her willing bait?”« Amélie sneers, but it drops when Hermione nods.

“Alright, where do you need me to be?”

Ginny grins while Amélie’s jaw drops.

»You’re joking, right? How can you lower yourself to—«

“Great Hall, that’s where most of the Death Eaters are going to be. Just cause enough chaos, and we’ll be good,” Ginny says, and she snaps her gaze to the fuming Amélie.

“And between us, I prefer that none of those bastards leave the Hall alive.”

That catches Amélie’s attention, and she stares neutrally at Ginny.

“We’ll see to it,” Hermione says, and the Alpha nods, turning to follow the rest of the H.G. members that left through a back door.

* * *

Hermione and Amélie run through the empty halls to the Great Hall, their senses on high alert for any threats.

»Ready?« Hermione asks as the closed doors of the Great Hall come into view.

»Let’s kill them all.«

Hermione only has a second to feel a bit of hesitation before Amélie’s body lights on Cursed Fire, and she smashes through the giant wooden doors.

* * *

“Honey, come down for dinner please,” a woman calls up from downstairs.

“Five more minutes Mum!” A little Omega girl calls back down, still engrossed by the book on her bed.

“Are you still reading that book? You better have your light on little missy!”

The little Omega quickly throws herself towards her bedside table, turning on the lamp and shutting the curtains, cutting off the strong rays of moonlight.

“I do Mum!” She yells back, and she hears the sounds of her Mum walking up the stairs. Peering into her room, the little Omega’s Mum sighs in an amused yet exasperated tone.

“Were you reading by wand-light or moonlight?”

The little Omega blushes at being caught, and she carefully closes her book.

“Moonlight,” she mumbles, and her Mum gives her a wry smile.

“You know that’s bad for your eyes,” she says, walking over and picking up the little Omega.

“But my friend Moon told me it was okay!”

“Moon?” Her Mum asks, and the little Omega girl perks up, nodding vigorously.

“Yeah, Moon! She comes during the night, ’cause she’s Moon, and she’s so nice and pretty, and she sometimes she brings a Raven with her!”

“Well, Moon is wrong—”

“ _Mum!_ ” The little Omega girl interrupts in a scandalized tone.

“Moon is never wrong! She’s so nice and pretty, and she always tells me the truth! Besides Daddy said he can always fix my eyes with magic!” The girl chirps, not noticing her Mum’s pursed lips.

“Yes, well, magic can’t fix everything, and it’s better to not deteriorate your eyesight to begin with,” her Mum replies.

“Okay—do you want to hear what I’ve been reading?!” The little Omega twists in her Mum’s arms, straining to reach the book.

“Why don’t you tell your Daddy and I over dinner? I’m sure he’ll love to hear about it,” her Mum says, placing her daughter down and gently guiding her out of the room.

“I’m not hungry!” As the little Omega proclaims this, her stomach growls, making her blush again. Her Mum chuckles, and the little Omega crosses her arms, pouting.

“Oh? What about the dragon in your tummy? She wants to be fed!” Her Mum says, leaning down to tickle her daughter’s stomach. The girl shrieks and sprints away and downstairs.

“I don’t have a dragon in my stomach anymore!”

The little Omega’s Mum smiles to herself, before her face falls into a cautious one. Slowly, she straightens up, and scans the room with a careful eye. Nothing seems out of place to her, even though her husband has assured her that if anyone; magical or not; were to pass through his wards, he’d know.

Still, call it mother’s intuition, the Mum knew that the “imaginary” friend her daughter had made wasn’t all that imaginary. Her eyes land upon the book her daughter was reading. Walking over to it, she hovers her hand over it’s plain, brown cover, memories of her husband telling her all about his job dealing with cursed objects.

Glancing around, she quickly reaches for the tennis racket lying hazardously on the floor, and she holds it by the net. Warily, the Mum pokes the book, and she tenses, waiting for something to happen. A minute passes, and she lets out a relieved and embarrassed sigh. Settling the racket back in it’s bin, the Mum gives the book a once over for the last time.

Shaking her head, she turns off the lamp, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. No sooner does the door mechanism click into place, the curtains drift apart, and cool moonlight filters into the room once more. A welcoming breeze blows into the room, and a Raven riding its currents glides onto bed.

Hopping towards the pile of pillows strewn about near the top of the bed in a nest-like fashion, it carefully burrows between the pillows. It’s search comes to a quick and fruitful end when it wriggles under the deepest pillow. Carefully, it taps the cherished snow globe with its beak.

Hearing the clear, melodic, _ting_ of enchanted glass, it shuffles awkwardly so that its talons can touch the snow globe. Pausing, the Raven closes its eyes, and when it opens them, they’re glowing a brilliant white color. They pulse once, twice, thrice, and the snow globe is enveloped in a flare of white.

The Raven wriggles backwards, eyes still glowing white as it stares down at the blessed object. Where the snow globe rested now lies a necklace, a miniaturized version of the snow globe hanging off it in a pendant style. The fine metal chain glows softly in the dim light, and the Raven nods proudly at the small moon clasp.

Its job done, the Raven’s eyes cease to glow, and it flies out of the room, the curtains sweeping shut after it.

* * *

Hermione saunters forwards, her eyes flicking to every Death Eater in the Great Hall. Shocked gasps and mutters from all of the Hogwarts students fill her ears, and she stops just shy of where the High Table used to be. Instead, five, evenly spaced, metal pillories with five Death Eaters flanking them are all occupied by a student.

The three Hogwarts Kings; Alpha Padma Patil, Alpha Susan Bones, and Alpha Pansy Parkinson; all look like they’ve been there the longest, while Omega Tracey Davis and Beta Harold Hawking look like they’re new additions.

“Lurch! You shouldn’t be here!” Harold yells before the Death Eater next to his pillory punches him in the face and then casts an _Oscausi_ on him. Amélie snarls at that, and everyone tenses. A Death Eater steps forwards, slow clapping as he leers at her. His very image is the exact copy of Professor Carrow’s, except in male form.

“Well, well, well, have you finally come to join Our Lord, Hermione?” Alpha Amycus Carrow drawls, and silence drops. Hermione tilts her chin up subtly, staring down at him as she would behold vermin.

“You dare speak to me so informally? You, of an inbred, _low_ House?” She drawls coldly, and Carrow’s face twists in rage, although he barely tempers it. Just barely. With a vein popping on his forehead, Carrow tilts his head down a fraction, his eyes lowering a smidge on her face.

“My apologies, Head Black, I meant your House no disrespect, I merely wished to know your . . . Status, during these troubling times,” Carrow growls out behind gritted teeth.

»What are you doing?! Let’s just torch him!« Amélie snarls.

»We can’t risk their lives!« Hermione snaps back, mentally gesturing towards the five captured students. Amélie silently growls, and the Cursed Fire dancing wildly on her body pulses.

“You demand to know my status?” Hermione takes a daring step closer to the Death Eater, and another, and another, until she’s glaring down at his oily, slicked back hair. He cranes his neck up just enough to lock hateful eyes with hers.

“Our Lord wishes to know, Head Black,” he says stiffly. A mean smirk graces Hermione’s lips, and Carrow narrows his eyes.

“Why, I do think this—” faster than his eyes can register, her cursed _Black Blade_ is a hair’s breadth away from slicing his jugular. The surrounding Death Eaters yell in anger, wands whipping out, but Carrow’s shout holds them at bay.

“—clears the air, so to speak,” Hermione says silkily, and Carrow’s body shakes with his contained rage.

“You shall regret not joining Our Lord’s cause, He shall make you wish for death!” He snarls, and Amélie laughs.

»Death is just an old friend,« she says, launching herself into the air, flinging torrents of Cursed Fire at any Death Eater. Pandemonium ensues as the Death Eaters yell, dodging the continuous rain of Cursed Fire, and the H.G. descends from their hiding places.

“NO! KILL THEM ALL! KILL— _GURK!_ ” Hermione watches in a detached mood as the _Black Blade_ cuts through flesh and bone like butter, blood exploding all over her as his head is severed from his body. Terrified screams from students near her bring Hermione out of her detachedness, and she locks eyes with the Death Eater that used the _Oscausi_ on Harold.

He turns to run, but he doesn’t make it a half-a-meter before Hermione pounces on him, switching her grip on her _Blade_ , and jamming it into his skull. More blood and gore splashes all over her face, and as she yanks out her _Blade_ , more, hot globs of blood slicks her hand.

“Watch out!”

She turns just in time, a _Killing Curse_ sailing just over her shoulder. Leaping to her feet, she rears back, and launches her _Black Blade_ through the air. It strikes true, sinking deep into the Death Eater’s heart greedily. Amélie’s hysterical laughter keeps ringing in Hermione’s mind as the Great Hall shakes with the force and heat of her Cursed Fire.

She’s keeping true to Ginny’s wish of not letting a single Death Eater out alive.

“Come on! Get us out!”

Hermione races over to the five captive students, some of the H.G. members and other students trying to unlock the pillories. Ginny is in her Werewolf form, and she’s still straining to open Pansy’s pillory. The growing problem is the metal is growing hot due to her twin’s attacks.

“Hurry!” Pansy roars, straining against her pillory.

“No magic is working!” A student wails.

“Out of my way!” Hermione orders, and space is immediately given to her. Clearing her head, she morphs her hands into Dragon talons. Gasps sound around her, but she doesn’t pay them any heed. Slashing at the pillories, she makes short work of them, breaking them and freeing the students.

Waving her talons at Harold, she reverses the _Dark Charm_ just as Amélie blows the roof of the Great Hall sky high.

* * *

Bill sits in the Shell Cottage, sipping his tea contently as he reads the Quibbler. He looks outside, a smile gracing his lips as he gazes out at the picturesque view. He takes another sip of his tea, wondering how wonderful his life has become. And to think he’d find love in the likes of—

Bill frowns as his train of thought cuts off. He scratches his head, trying to remember who he was going to think of. Surely it had to be his wife? Yes, that has to be it. Bill nods to himself, and looks outside again. Still, a nagging notion that he’s forgetting something haunts him, and he decides to read the mail.

Reaching over to the letter sent by Sirius, Bill chuckles when he reads its funny contents. He’s always found the older Alpha amusing, if not a little stuck up.

“Honey! Sirius sent us a gift!” He calls into the Cottage, holding up the strange little tankard of purple liquid. It reminds him of the lovely purple highlights that he simply adores on—

Bill shakes his head as a minor headache forms in his temples. His wife doesn’t have purple highlights, what was he thinking about? As if his thoughts summoned her, Fleur glides into the room, and she sits herself in his lap.

“What iz thiz?” She asks, plucking the gift from his hand.

“Well,” Bill consults the letter. “Sirius says it’s an aphrodisiac that only the Black family know of, and he wanted to give it to us.”

Fleur sniffs at that, and she tosses the thing over her shoulder. Bill winces a little when the small tankard shatters on the stone kitchen floor, the purple liquid flying everywhere.

“Fleur,” he admonishes, but she shrugs.

“I don’t need some zex invigoration potion, it’z inzulting,” she says, and Bill opens his mouth to reply, but they both freeze when purple smoke wafts over to them.

“I . . . Wha . . .” Bill can’t seem to work his tongue to form words, it feels so swollen in his mouth. Fleur likewise is affected, gapping inelegantly like a fish. They can’t move, their limbs having locked up as the purple cloud seeps into their flesh, their lungs. Gradually, it clears, and both Bill and Fleur blink rapidly.

When they look at each other, their bodies roar with lust, and they crash into each other, neither of them noticing the sickly purple haze coating each other’s eyes.

— . —

 _Oscausi_ = Silencing Dark Charm 3x

 _Avada Kedavra_ = Unforgivable Killing Curse


	15. Dire Straits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione should really learn not to meddle with corrupted stuff

“Amélie! They’re all dead! Calm down!” Hermione shouts in the shocked silence. Her twin’s deep panting can barely be heard over the whistling winds, and—

“Scatter!” Someone screams as the huge pieces of the Great Hall’s roof start raining down.

»Idiots, all of them, don’t they know they can use magic?« Amélie grumbles, drawing in all her Cursed Fire between her outstretched arms, and throwing her hands up. Her Cursed Fire easily consumes the falling chunks of debris, burning them all to ash. Silence descends again upon the Great Hall as the grey remains of the once magnificent roof, and Hermione turns to Ginny.

“Where are the Professors?” She asks, and the Werewolf’s ears twitch in a startled manner.

“Umm—”

“They’re locked in the Chamber of Secrets with a Basilisk!” Pansy interrupts Ginny’s guilty stammering, and Hermione lets out a sigh of relief.

“Okay, I’ll go get them—Amélie, stay here and help clean up your mess,” Hermione orders, to which her twin flips her the bird.

“What about the Basilisk?” Susan asks; she along with the other Kings gathering closer to Hermione.

“I’ll be alright,” she replies with a reassuring smile before she morphs into a Horned Serpent, and _Slither-Syasasions_ to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

* * *

Amélie watches as the Hogwarts Kings work seamlessly with the Hogwarts Guardians to regain order among the Houses, and distribute out important tasks.

“Oh, Amélie! You’re on the Forbidden Forest patrol with Hawking and Seamus,” Padma calls out. Amélie scowls at the order, but the two boys are already walking towards her. They walk out of the Great Hall in awkward silence, and they’re just about to approach the Courtyard, when Seamus blurts out whatever he was holding in.

“Can you do the fire thing again? That was bloody wicked!” The Gryffindor Alpha says exuberantly, practically vibrating with excitement. Harold—with his mouth now back and functioning normally—grimaces at Seamus’ loud voice in the quiet halls. Amélie just smirks, and her Cursed Fire bursts to life along her fingers.

»Glad to see someone here appreciates my actions,« she says, even though they can’t hear her.

“—aaand you’re reassigned to the Black Lake patrol with Millicent and that Peter Silvertongue boy,” Omega Tracey Davis says sweetly, laying a hand on Seamus’ shoulder.

“But I want to see her light herself on fire again!” The Alpha complains, but he’s already turning to walk in the direction of the Lake.

“That’s exactly why you’re being reassigned,” Tracey says primly, gently shoving the Alpha away. As soon as Seamus is out of earshot, the Omega snaps her head towards Amélie, making Harold jump.

“I heard that you and Hermione are looking for Thalia Carrow—I can help guide you!” She says in a rush, and Harold’s eyes widen.

“Huh? Why are you looking for her—and who are you by the way?” He asks. Amélie sighs, and rolls her eyes at question.

»I’m Amélie, and it’s obvious that Hermione’s my twin,« Amélie drawls, writing the words with Cursed Fire as she speaks. Both of them open their mouths, but Amélie holds up her hand, and they shut up.

»We can continue our talk as we patrol,« she says and writes, her eyes lingering on the Omega. The walk down to the Forest is filled with soft questions, all of them now aware the danger of lurking Death Eaters. Amélie glances over to Tracey again when the Omega glances at a random direction with an intense look.

She remembers the Omega’s unique and strange ability to track auras, and having her would greatly decrease the time searching fruitlessly for the missing Alpha. And would accelerate the goal of Amélie acquiring her own body.

“Death Eater, in the bushes, there,” Tracey whispers, and Amélie snaps her fingers, lighting him on Cursed Fire. The Death Eater’s startled, dying screams are snuffed out as he’s burned alive in seconds. The Omega nods her thanks, her stony expression revealing nothing while Harold gets a green in the face.

»Can’t handle a little fire?« Amélie mocks, not bothering to write out her words, her body language speaks for itself. Harold glances at her, and then looks away.

“You should go ask for a different task if this one is too much for you,” Tracey says firmly, but not unkindly, yet Harold shakes his head vigorously.

“No! I’m okay, I want to get to know Amélie better, I just—I wasn’t prepared against his pain,” the last part of the Beta’s sentence is mumbled under his breath, but Amélie can hear him just fine.

»‘Wasn’t prepared’? So what? You could feel his pain?« Amélie drawls sarcastically, writing her words, and Tracey narrows her eyes at Harold. The Beta takes a deep breath, and nods slowly.

“Yeah, and it felt awful,” he mutters, and Tracey gasps.

“No way! I thought all of you went underground!” The Omega exclaims, and Harold looks up at Amélie with a confused expression.

“What Clan do you hail from? Why didn’t you tell me—we could have been friends earlier!” Tracey continues, and she would have kept her garage of questions if Amélie hadn’t stopped her.

»We both have no idea what you’re prattling on about, so cut to the chase and tell us who you think Harold is,« Amélie says and writes. Tracey blinks owlishly at them both.

“Well . . . Aren’t you an Empath?”

* * *

Hermione reappears on top of a stall wall, keeping perfectly still as her gaze locks on the two nervously shifting Death Eaters guarding the open entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. There’s no sign of Moaning Myrtle at all.

“Should we go check out whatever made that racket?” One of them mutters fearfully, his knuckle-white grip on his wand tightening.

“I’m not going, it could’ve just been Carrow losing his shit on another student,” the other replies in a forced confident tone.

“Y-yeah,” the first replies, shifting awkwardly on his feet. Hermione slowly starts to slither towards them, her tongue flicking out to taste their scents. However, the Death Eater’s next words make her pause.

“I’m sorry, mate,” the first Death Eater says.

“What for?” The second replies.

“. . . Getting us here,” the first mumbles, and the second Death Eater swiftly turns to face his companion.

“Don’t you go on blaming yourself for this shithole situation, Uter! Blame your fucking Father for basically selling you into slavery!” The second Death Eater growls, his Alpha pheromones pumping out of him in an aggressively overprotective way. Hermione wrinkles her nose at the stench, but the first Death Eater—Uter—shivers.

“But it’s my fault you got Marked Aval! If I hadn’t—” Uter squeaks as Aval lunges forwards, pulling the smaller Death Eater into a fiercely tight embrace.

“I don’t care about the stupid Mark, you _know_ that,” Aval rumbles firmly.

“Yeah, but now you’re on _You-Know-Who’s_ hit-list,” Uter mumbles back.

“Fuck her, that Mendonica bitch can try to kill me,” Aval proudly states, but Uter just shakes his head. Hermione feels an odd emotion at the obvious fear from the Death Eater. Idly she casts her mind back to all the two dozen Death Eaters Amélie burned to crisps, but she can’t find it in her to muster up any guilt.

“Aval, I’m serious! She’s been murdering all the top members—”

“Exactly, we’re not important enough to even appear on her radar,” now Aval pauses, and he takes off his silver mask. Uter gasps, but Aval forages on.

“Do you want to leave before you’re Marked?”

The Alpha’s question stumps the other Alpha. Uter ducks his head, and looks at himself in the mirror. Hermione can’t tell what’s running through his head, but Aval picks up on something in Uter’s body languages. Slowly, Uter takes off his silver mask, and Hermione sees a handsome face with sad eyes.

“Yes,” Uter whispers, and Aval wastes no time grabbing Uter as the two Death Eaters dissolve into two pillars of black smoke, smashing through the window.

* * *

Hermione glances after their retreating smoky forms before morphing wings for her serpent body. Soaring over to the Chamber of Secrets entrance, she carefully starts her descent, keeping a keen eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

Once she arrives at the bottom of the tunnel, she quickly darts into the nearest shadow, pressing herself tightly against the wall to avoid being seen. At first glance, there’s nothing amiss in the main hall of the Chamber, but something makes her scales tingle unpleasantly. Slithering slowly along the wall, she doesn’t smell any Death Eaters.

Flicking out her tongue, Hermione tastes the air for any of the Professors. Could Pansy have lied to her about their whereabouts? Or maybe the Alpha herself, was misled. Rising up, Hermione quickly flies around the main hall towards Salazar’s office. Peeking through the cracked door, she glances around the deserted place.

Nothing’s out of place. Slithering forwards, she morphs back into her normal form.

“Thon?” Hermione mutters, and House-Elf appears with an extravagant bow.

Our’s Queen! Thon is at your service! The Elf squeaks into the floor.

“Where are the Hogwarts Professors being held?” Hermione asks, and Thon grovels lower.

Thon saw masked figures take them into the King of Serpent’s lair! Thon pauses, and then says a bit more. They had the Veela Professor chained to a strange pole, the Elf squeaks slowly.

“How was it strange?” Hermione asks, her thoughts turning to the Alpha Veela Kate Duceau. Thon shivers, and he tugs at his ears.

It was a very bad pole, Our’s Queen! Thon felt his’ magic being pulled to it, so he’s hid in this office and hid it away from the masked figures’ eyes!

“It’s alright Thon, you did well,” Hermione soothes, crouching down to pat his head. The House-Elf looks up at Hermione with tears shining in his eyes, and he grins.

Our’s Queen is so most benevolent to Thon! He’s so honored to serve her’s! He squeaks proudly, and Hermione gives him a neutral smile.

“Well, in that case, do you mind gathering all the Death Eaters in the Chamber and securing them in the main hall?”

Thon bobs his head up and down so voraciously Hermione’s concerned he might break his old neck.

Thon shall do as Our’s Queen commands! He squeaks before bowing low, and disappearing with a pop. In the next second, Hermione hears the furious outcry of the first Death Eater appearing in the main hall. Smirking, she walks out of the office, not bothering with stealth anymore. Ignoring the growing group of disgruntled Death Eaters, Hermione enters the opening in the mouth of Asclepius’ nest.

Sliding down the winding tube passage, Hermione leaps to her feet when the tube flattens out. In doing so, she easily dodges a curse fired at her from a frightened Death Eater.

“Hey! Who are—”

You dare attack Our’s Queen?! Thon screams, tackling the Death Eater’s leg and the pair vanish. A beat of silence later, and Thon reappears.

Our’s Queen! You’s are not harmed?!

“I’m fine, although thank you for the assist,” Hermione replies, scanning the empty nest.

“I thought you said the Professors were here,” she says, and Thon instantly drops into a kowtow.

Thon does not deserve Our’s Queen’s forgiveness since he’s misled Our’s Queen! The Professors are hidden where Thon cannot follow! The House-Elf wails, and Hermione lets out a deep sigh.

“It’s fine Thon, why don’t you just make sure none of the Death Eaters upstairs escape,” she says, and the Elf disappears again. Looking around the barren nest, Hermione sniffs the cold air.

‡ _Asssccclepiusss?_ ‡ Hermione hisses, her breath steaming in front of her. There’s no reply . . . And yet something tugs at her attention. Hurrying over to a section of the nest, she pulls away the nest, revealing the entrance of the Dragon Armory.

“Of course, why didn’t I think of it earlier?” Hermione mutters to herself, reaching down to knock on the stone. However, her hand stills centimeters from the stone, and she pulls away slowly. Something’s off about it. Tilting her head, she waves her hand over the entrance, ever so carefully letting a slip of her Thrall brush up against the stone.

A rumble in the lair makes Hermione leap away, her hands raised defensively. The walls seem to ripple like coils of scales, and Hermione stares with narrowed eyes as the ripple trickles down to the floor, under the nest, and right over the Dragon Armory’s entrance. An phantom impression of a snake’s head seems to press up from the stone, a single eye fixing itself on her.

Hermione blinks, and the effect is gone, as if it was never there.

‡ _Asssccclepiusss?_ ‡ She hisses again, and the impression emerges again, shifting up and down around the lair’s walls.

‡ _You’re trapped in the wallsss, the floor,_ ‡ Hermione hisses to Asclepius, and the lair rumbles again. Quickly, Hermione hurries to the Dragon Armory’s entrance, and knocks solidly on the stone. The lair starts to shake again, and Hermione has a split second to throw herself out of the way before Asclepius’ massive body launches out of the stone.

‡ _Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper [Speaker-Queen-Usurper], you have my mossst humblessst thanksss for freeing me from that horrid prissson, I am forever in your debt,_ ‡ the Basilisk hisses reverently after gathering tightly around himself.

‡ _Your welcome Asssccclepiusss,_ ‡ Hermione hisses, smiling brightly up at him. Then that smile turns a little wicked.

‡ _I’m sure you mussst be very hungry, how long have you been trapped here?_ ‡

Asclepius flicks his tongue angrily.

‡ _I do not know how long, only that it ssseemed to me like cccenturiesss,_ ‡ he hisses darkly.

‡ _Well, there’sss a meal waiting for you upstairsss, jussst tell Thon that I sssaid it wasss alright for you to do so,_ ‡ Hermione hisses, and Asclepius raises his head eagerly.

‡ _You are too kind, Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper [Speaker-Queen-Usurper], now if you ssshall forgive me, I ssshall disssmissss myself from your presence._ ‡

With that, Asclepius slithers up the tube exit excitedly, leaving Hermione all alone.

* * *

This time when she knocks on the stone, it levitates up and out of the way. Carefully jumping down into the Dragon Armory, Hermione finds all the Professors in varying stages of being sucked into the Armory’s walls. All of them unconscious, and the few deadly corruptive weapons left are placed next to each of them.

Oddly enough, Professor Snape is not here, and Hermione spares a wandering thought of where he could be.

She takes a wary step forwards, eyeing the Dragon bone weapons cautiously. This time, she doesn’t have her _Black Blade_ with her to keep her from succumbing to the seductive dark magic. The _Blade_ is still lodged in a Death Eater’s heart somewhere in the Great Hall.

Pushing down her mounting fear of being possessed again, Hermione walks quickly to the Professor who needs her the most. Thon’s warning is a little of an understatement, for he didn’t tell her that the strange, magic sucking pole that Kate’s chained to. Unlike the rest of the Professors, her absorption into the Dragon Armory’s walls seems to be the slowest.

Hermione breaths in a calming breath, and she unsheathes her wand. Lightly tapping the chains, they spark, glowing red briefly, and the pole hums. Kate groans softly, but she doesn’t wake up. Lighting her hand on Cursed Fire, Hermione yelps as her flames are almost yanked off her hand and towards the pole.

She douses them instantly, and glares at the magic sucking pole. She can’t touch it without it gobbling up her own magic . . . But maybe something else can. Her eyes slide to the Dragon bone knife glinting smugly down at her. Gulping, Hermione slowly raises her hand up to the Goblin-made weapon.

Ever so slowly, her fingers close around its hilt, its corrosive magic song rising when she picks it off its rack. Holding it far away from her, Hermione keeps her grip firm and her magic tightly gathered in her. However, this weapon doesn’t act like how Nevarmōril did. Hermione can sense that it has no interest in infiltrating her body physically, but it’s twisted song worms in her ears coyly.

Shaking her head, Hermione tries to tune out the whispering notes begging to be heard, and she angles the knife against Kate’s chains. The instant the blade touches the chains, two things happen at the same time. One: a blinding explosion of sparks and shards of metal fly everywhere, and two: Hermione’s hand holding the knife flashes about in a blinding speed, deflecting anything that would have hit her.

Hermione has no time to speculate how the knife took control of her hand, as she lunges forwards to grab Kate and drag her away from the wretched pole. The Veela Alpha groans, and she grimaces in pain.

“Kate? Can you hear me?” Hermione asks, wrapping her Thrall around the weak Veela Alpha.

»Uugh,« Kate groans, and Hermione lets out a sigh of relief.

“Hold on, I’ll get you out of here,” Hermione gently lowers Kate to the floor, and she hurries over to the closest Professor, which just so happens to be Professor McGonagall. The Beta woman is the most submerged in the wall among the rest of the professors, with half of her body gone from view.

Hermione places her free hand on the wall next to Professor McGonagall’s head, unsure if Hogwarts can even hear from down here. Silently, she wills the wall to free the Beta woman, but nothing happens. Suddenly, Hermione realizes her hand holding the knife is moving, pointing to pole.

The knife’s song swells, and Hermione starts to feel the urge to open her mouth. It’s like an itch she has to scratch, and she almost does, but she fights against it. She will not be controlled by these weapons again. The knife heats up in her grasp, and it with a strength she didn’t know it had, it yanks her towards the pole.

Hissing, Hermione tries to release the knife, but her hand won’t unclench. In response, its coy song takes a turn for the worse, and Hermione can almost hear the mocking words hissing in her mind. She slaps her hand over her mouth—but she hears the sickly magic being sung.

Whipping her head over her shoulder, Hermione’s eyes widen when she sees Kate propped up on her elbows with dead-like, glazed eyes, singing the knife’s song. The pole shudders, and Hermione quickly focuses back on it. Kate’s raspy singing takes on a purring quality, as if pleased, and the pole shudders harder.

Hermione takes a step back, but the knife has other ideas. It pulls her forwards, and its tip barely grazes the pole, when a flood of black liquid pummels Hermione into the floor.

* * *

“What’s an Empath?” Harold asks, and Tracey’s eyes go wide.

“Wait, you mean—you don’t know what you are?!”

»I think he’s made it very clear he doesn’t, besides, any remaining Empaths hiding in England have either been killed off or moved out,« Amélie says and writes.

“You can’t know that for sure! Maybe Harold just slipped through the cracks!” Tracey argues, and Amélie rolls her eyes.

»If there’s one thing the British Ministry can not fuck up with absolute certainty, is their relentless oppression and eradication of any magical creature,” Amélie drawls and writes.

“Will one of you tell me what the bloody hell is an Empath?!” Harold snaps, and Amélie and Tracey turn to him, Amélie gesturing for the Omega to tell the annoyed Beta.

“An Empath can sense, feel, and sometimes control other people’s emotions. There’s many sub-abilities stemming from those three main ones, but that’s essentially what an Empath can do,” Tracey says gently, speaking slowly to not shock the already shocked Harold.

“. . . Control?” The Beta mutters, and Tracey nods sympathetically.

“Yeah, although it’s not something you can just do, you have to learn how to manipulate emotions—”

“How do you know I’m a so-called Empath? Are you one?” Harold interrupts, and Tracey blanches.

“Er,” the Omega glances up at Amélie, who raises an eyebrow at her. Honestly, it’s so obvious to her that Tracey is a Sylkie, that she’s astonished that Hermione hasn’t figured it out yet. She remembers Pansy practically telling Hermione she was kissed by a Sylkie.

“What about sharing emotions? Can Empaths do that?” Harold fires off.

“Share? What do you mean?” Tracey asks, confusion evident in her eyes.

“Uh, kinda like this,” Harold looks at Amélie, and he raises his hand. Unbidden, Amélie’s hand raises too, and she startles at the oddly familiar gesture. It feels nostalgic somehow, and that feeling only heightens when she sees the air shimmer between their hands and energy jolts up her arm.

“How did you do that?” Tracey leans in curiously, and Harold stammers through a reply, but Amélie lets their voices fade into the background. Looking down at her hand, she wonders why she could feel that energy. She’s astral-projecting, surely Harold’s Empath magic couldn’t have touched her, but then again, she’s interacted with physical things normally.

Amélie looks up when Harold lets out an awed gasp, and she surmises that the Omega told him who she really is. She opens her mouth to say something, but suddenly all the wind is knocked out of her, and she drops to the ground. The last thing she sees is Harold and Tracey trying to hold her as her body winks out of existence.


	16. Wolf Trails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grimmauld Place residents gets a surprise visitor, and Luna arrives in the nick of time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that's sung is "The Wolven Storm (Priscilla's Song)" by Bellabeth. It can be found on Spotify and Youtube, and I'm fairly certain it's on Apple Music too.

Under the ever watching, scrutinizing stare of Naricssa, Daphne was in the middle of modeling how to walk like a proper Pureblood High Lady for Meissa, when a Raven flew through the open dance room window and landed on the young Alpha’s shoulder.

‡ _Hhisssshsihsihsihsihsshhhhiisissssssihs!_ ‡ Meissa squeals, her attention turning to the abnormally large avian creature. Narcissa doesn’t sigh in exasperation, but Daphne does see the slightest tick in the Omega woman’s eye.

“Mei, you know you can’t play with your feathered friends during class,” Daphne says, trying to interrupt the conversation of shrill hisses and soft caws. The Raven glances at her, and Daphne swears that it shrugs apologetically at her.

“Meissa, enough, you may speak with your Familiar later,” Narcissa states firmly, but the young Alpha just rolls her eyes and strokes the Raven more.

‡ _Hssssiiishshsshhhhhiishhhsss!_ ‡

At Daphne’s confused expression and Narcissa’s unamused one, Meissa swallows, a look of concentration taking over her features.

“Not Familiar! Family!” Meissa says brusquely. Narcissa raises an eyebrow at that, and Daphne carefully angles her body so the Lady Black can’t see her face, but at the same time subtly in front of the baby. She’s sure that Narcissa noticed, as it takes all of Daphne’s willpower not to turn around at the burning gaze on the back of her neck.

“Family! Flock! Friend! Not Familiar!” Meissa chants.

“Does your friend have a name?” Daphne says quickly. Meissa whips her head towards Daphne, her heterochromia iridum eyes shining brightly.

‡ _Hssisssh-Hssisssh!_ ‡

“In English if you would,” Narcissa orders, and Meissa rolls her eyes again. The young Alpha turns to Daphne, only acknowledging her.

“Howl-Howl! He’s Howl-Howl!”

“A bird named after a sound a dog makes?” Daphne mutters to herself, but Meissa nods.

“Howl-Howl can howl!”

Right on cue, the Raven throws back his head and a warbling half-croak, half-howl like sound emits from his throat. Meissa laughs and claps her hands, and she too tilts her head back to let out a howl of her own.

Not a second later, Daphne and Narcissa hear a slightly muffled howl downstairs, drowning out Howl-Howl and Meissa’s attempts at the sound. Daphne face palms as she hears Narcissa swiftly leave the room to search for Astoria. From the strength of that howl, her little sister is in her Maledictus form.

As soon as the door closes, Meissa immediately latches onto Daphne’s legs, staring up at her. Howl-Howl is knocked off at the sudden movement, and he glides to the window sill.

‡ _Sshhhhsiiiissssshshshhhhhssshsssshiishihsssssih?_ ‡ Meissa hisses, tilting her head up at Daphne. The Raven caws softly, and Meissa blinks.

“Howl-Howl said Pack coming!” Meissa chirps happily, and Daphne frowns in confusion.

“He said that?” She asks, crouching down to the young Alpha’s level. Meissa nods vigorously.

“Yes! Pack! Alfā! Moon!”

Daphne doesn’t know what to make of Hermione’s daughter sometimes, and this is one of these times.

“How does Howl-Howl know this?”

Meissa laughs, and Daphne sees Hermione in her smile.

“Silly Mated! Howl-Howl Sees!”

Before Daphne can open her mouth to ask anymore questions, Draco slams the door open, gasping for breath.

“A pack of Werewolves are headddeddd ttthis way!” He wheezes, and Daphne whips her head towards a grinning Meissa.

‡ _Ssshsiissshhssss!_ ‡ She hisses excitedly, and Daphne instantly feels the familiar weight of Hermione’s Familiar, Tyche, draped across her shoulders. Meissa grasps Daphne’s hand, and suddenly, in a motion-sickening whirl of her body feeling like it’s being pummeled like a sack of sand, they all reappear in the living room.

* * *

Daphne barely holds in the bile threatening to leave her mouth, trying to cough as societally polite as she can. Tyche shifts her position on Daphne, licking her cheek in an apology. Meissa giggles at Daphne’s queasy expression, and Daphne notices with a little jealousy that the young Alpha is not even affected by the Horned Serpent’s magic.

Howl-Howl glides into the room and joins Err’sh on the window sill, the two birds eyeing each other respectfully. Harry and Draco scoot over on their couch, and Daphne leads Meissa over to it. Across from them, Alpha Bellatrix Black and Alpha Vicencta Mendonica take up a single fainting couch, the Veela Alpha sitting gracefully in a dignified manner, while her British counterpart is sprawled hazardously—although not ungracefully—on top of her.

Andromeda and Narcissa are in separate chairs, the former looking far more relaxed than the latter.

“The Werewolf is here, and it seems she’s brought . . . company,” Narcissa says idly, and Daphne glances at the Omega woman out of the corner of her eye. While the high Lady doesn’t seem ruffled, she’s part of Pureblood elite, and Daphne has an inkling that Narcissa is not at all pleased.

“What does the Werewolf look like?” Alpha Bellatrix Black; newly reinstated Head of House Black; asks in a bored tone. The Alpha flops her head to the side, so her nose is pressed up against Vicencta’s abdomen. The Veela Alpha doesn’t seem to mind the closeness, although from the differing looks from her sisters, they do mind.

Daphne observes how Narcissa’s eye twitches a little as she answers calmly.

“I’ve heard of her, she’s Alpha Tarow Greyback, Alfā now if my memory of Werewolf hierarchy is correct,” Vicencta says softly, and Bellatrix flops her arms over her head and stretches, clearly pushing her cleavage up in Vicencta’s direction. Daphne notes with a little uncomfortableness that the Alpha woman has chosen a different corset to accent her sex appeal.

“Bella stop it, there are children present,” Narcissa snaps, a whiff of her annoyed Omega pheromones floating to everyone. Harry and Draco are studiously looking anywhere but the confrontation bound to happen, although Daphne covers Meissa’s eyes when she realizes the young Alpha is flat out staring at her other Mum.

“Hm, no,” the eldest Black sister drawls, and she laces her fingers through her thick, curly hair. Vicencta’s stare never leaves Bellatrix, and Daphne swears the Alpha woman’s smugness manifests around her like a satisfied cat.

‡ _Shhssssiiiissshssshhhhsssissssshi,_ ‡ Meissa hisses under her breath, and Harry coughs awkwardly.

‡ _Hiissshs_ —er, that isn’t, ah, polite to say, Mei,” the Gryffindor Alpha whispers. Tyche hisses something as well, and Hermione’s daughter whips her head towards Daphne, hissing in a pleading tone while she makes pitiful doe eyes at her.

Daphne’s saved from whatever Meissa was asking of her when the doorbell rings, everyone pauses whatever they were doing. There’s a tense few minutes of silence, and then Kreacher appears in a grovel before Bellatrix.

“Head Black, Kreacher has asked the identifying questions you’s has ordered Kreacher to demand from the visitors,” the House-Elf reports.

“Spit it out, Elf,” Narcissa says coldly, and Kreacher flinches. Daphne, Draco, and Harry share side glances, all of them remembering the terrifying rage the Omega woman almost leveled on Hermione. Daphne twitches at her name. It’s an unspoken rule not to utter it, lest the speaker face Narcissa’s supreme ire. Daphne’s thoughts turn to her Mate, but before she can tread down that path any longer, Kreacher speaks.

“Yes Mistress, Kreacher shall obey. All three Werewolves are willing to vow on their’s magic to attest they’s are who they’s say they’s are,” Kreacher says.

“Did they say their names?” Andromeda asks.

“They’s did, Mistress, they’s are Delta-Alfā Tarow Greyback, Alpha Uter Pindrag, and Omega Sarah Flale.”

“Pindrag? Are you positive?” Bellatrix sits up, staring at the House-Elf with narrowed eyes.

“Yes Head Black, Kreacher is most sure the Werewolf’s surname is Pindrag, and Kreacher will punish himself most severely if he’s told Head Black falsely!” Kreacher wails.

“Let them in,” Bellatrix orders.

“Bella—!” Narcissa starts, but the Alpha woman shakes her head sharply, and Narcissa shuts her jaw with a click. Bellatrix snaps her fingers at Kreacher, and the Elf hurriedly pops away, reappearing with the three Werewolves in seconds. All three grimace at the abrupt Apparation, but they brush it off quickly. Kreacher bows, and pops away.

“Long time no see, Pindrag,” Bellatrix drawls, and the Alpha man pales a little. Tarow shifts forward, drawing the attention to her.

“Alpha Bellatrix Black, I am Delta-Alfā Tarow Greyback, Alfā of all Werewolves, daughter of Alfā Fenrir Greyback and Epsilon-Omega Lissa Clearwind of Greyback, half-sister of Omega Leilaki Clearwind of Greyback, and sister-in-law of Alpha Ginerva Clearwind of Greyback,# the Werewolf says clearly, and Bellatrix stands up in a fluid motion.

“Delta-Alfā Tarow Greyback, I am Alpha Bellatrix Black, Alpha of House Black, daughter of Alpha Cygnus II Black and Omega Druella Black, sister of Beta Andromeda Tonks and Omega Narcissa Black, mother of Alpha Meissa Black, aunt of Alpha Draco Malfoy and Beta Nymphadora Tonks, and cousin of Alpha Hermione Mendonica,” the Alpha woman replies succinctly.

Tarow raises an eyebrow at the last name.

“Hermione Mendonica is an Alfā,” the Werewolf corrects smoothly, and Bellatrix merely tilts her head.

“Now that the greetings are out of the way, why are you here?”

Tarow raises her chin subtly, her eyes flicking over to Andromeda.

“I am here to make due on a promise I swore to Ginerva,” Tarow says, and everyone perks up at this.

“Ginny? She got married?” Harry asks, and Tarow looks over at him.

“You’re the Alpha of the purple-faced Beta,” she muses, and Harry flushes in embarrassment.

“Uh, well not really, I mean I was, but I don’t think I am anymore,” he babbles. Draco puts his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders in response to Tarow’s unimpressed look.

“I assume that you are considered the Alpha of the Tonks pack as well,” the Werewolf Alfā says to Bellatrix, who cocks her hip, but nods.

“Then I ask if you would turn over the Werewolf in the Tonks pack to me.”

* * *

There’s a stunned bit of silence, and then an annoyed expression crosses Bellatrix’s face.

“Seriously? That’s what you came all the way for? Merlin’s balls, Werewolf, take him, Lupin’s all yours,” Bellatrix scoffs dismissively.

“Bellatrix! Think about Nymphadora!” Andromeda exclaims, leaping to her feet.

“Andy, your daughter will be fine, I’m sure she’ll find someone else—”

“Is this Nymphadora Lupin’s Mate?” Omega Sarah Flale interrupts, and Daphne’s jaw nearly drops. That Werewolf has guts to cut off Narcissa like that. Bellatrix cracks a small grin Sarah.

“Who knows, possibly,” Bellatrix drawls, and Tarow nods thoughtfully.

“Then she shall be invited as well.”

“Excuse me, Alfā Ttrarow,” Draco speaks up, and the Werewolf turns to him.

“Why, exactttly, are you tttaking Lupin? Whattt dddo you plan ttto dddo wittth him?”

Meissa chooses that moment to start barking, startling everyone. Tarow whips her focus onto the young Alpha, who grins widely up at her.

“Alfā Hermione’s pup is correct, I do plan on detoxifying the Wolfsbane from Alpha Remus Lupin’s system completely and permanently,” Tarow declares factually.

“May I ask why? I thought Wolfsbane helps the Werewolves control themselves,” Narcissa says, but Tarow shakes her head.

“That is a lie spread by your government. It is a drug that drives the minds of the wolf and human further apart, inciting fear as a motivator instead of peaceful harmony.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Harry says, and Uter flashes a grin at him.

“The Gift always is,” the Alpha man says with a smile.

“That reminds me, how did you of all people become a Werewolf?” Bellatrix asks, and Uter gives her a level, but respectful look.

“Aval and I aren’t a part of that anymore. We’ve sworn our wands to Alfā Tarow, to the Pack,” he says firmly, a flinty tone sharpening his words. Bellatrix merely grins slyly, but Tarow’s next words wipe it off her face.

“Alpha Aval may bear the Dark Mark, but he and Uter are far from the Death Eaters they once were,” the Werewolf Alfā states proudly, placing a hand on Uter’s shoulder.

“I see, do you take in all defecting Death Eaters?” Bellatrix asks, and Tarow narrows her eyes.

“I judge by character, and I gather by your tone, that you obviously didn’t think Uter was good Death Eater material.”

Bellatrix shrugs, not at all bothered at being called out.

“So? He wasn’t. Now, Aval, he was some—”

#Arrf! Arrrrr! Wooof! Arrf! Woof! Wooof!# Meissa barks loudly, and Howl-Howl caws sharply.

“I apologize Alpha Meissa, but I do not know where she is,” Tarow says gently, and Meissa huffs, crossing her arms petulantly.

“Mei, who did you ask about?” Daphne asks, although she’s fairly certain she knows who.

“Since when does my kid know Grawl?” Bellatrix mutters.

“Alfā Hermione was last seen helping liberate Hogwarts from Death Eater control, I believe the ‘Hogwarts royalty’ are working with the leaders of this H.G. organization, from what my half-sister has told me.”

“The Hogwarts royalty are the leaders of H.G.; which is the Hogwarts Guardians,” Daphne finally speaks up.

“Anyway, simply point me in the way of Lupin and we shall be on our way,” Tarow says, but Bellatrix snaps her fingers, summoning Kreacher again.

“Bring Tonks and Lupin here,” the Alpha woman orders, and in seconds the couple are standing in the living room in only their nightclothes.

“Oh! Mum! Hi! Who are you guys?” Tonks asks in a too high voice, trying to pat down her crazy bedhead. Remus, however, is staring with wide eyes at the Werewolves in front of him.

“You’re Greyback’s daughter!” He gasps.

“Remus, it’s fine, Tarow just wants to help you,” Harry says, getting up to walk over to the sickly Werewolf. Sarah wrinkles her nose when she smells him, and Uter bites his lip to stop from gagging. Only Tarow seems unaffected, although her eyes harden at the sight of him.

“Alpha Remus Lupin, welcome to the Pack—”

“No! I don’t want to go! You can’t make me! I’m fine! I need it to survive!” Remus shouts, his eyes flashing gold. It sets everyone on edge, and Vicencta flares her wings protectively, leaning close to Bellatrix.

“No you are not. Right now, you are a danger to everyone around you,” Tarow says in a low voice

“You don’t think I know that?! I’m a monster!” Remus says in a self loathing tone. Uter growls at that.

“So you’re saying all Werewolves are monsters?”

“He’s pretty sick in the head,” Sarah mutters, and Remus growls a little at that.

“Remus, honey, I think you should go with them,” Tonks says, shocking him. Tarow takes a step forwards.

“Your Mate is right, listen to her,” the Werewolf Alfā urges, but Remus frowns.

“We’re not Mates.”

Tonks’ face hardens at that, and she wraps her arms around herself. Tarow growls darkly, and in a sudden, jerking movement she yanks Remus up by his throat. A shocked shriek from Tonks has everyone reaching for their wands, the other two Werewolves instantly flanking their Alfā, warily baring their teeth.

“How dare you deny your Mate so harshly?! Is she not your Moon that you worship the ground she shines upon?! You have scent marked her as yours, she is your everything, and yet you still reject her?! She is the mother of your pups!” Tarow roars in Remus’ red face, the frail Alpha clawing weakly at the Werewolf Alfā’s iron grip.

“Pups?!” Andromeda gasps, and all eyes fall on Tonks, whose holding her stomach more firmly. Tarow lessons her grip enough for Remus to breath.

“Tonks?” He croaks, and Tonks ducks her head.

“I . . . I’m five months pregnant Remus,” the Beta says shakily, and her mother rushes over to envelop her daughter in a tight hug. Tarow throws Remus to the floor, the Werewolf Alpha so shocked at the news that he doesn’t even bother to get up.

“What—why didn’t you tell me?” He asks in disbelief. Tonks looks up at the ceiling, and Remus’ breath hitches when he sees that the Beta woman is crying silently.

“You hate yourself because you’re a Werewolf. I didn’t want you to hate our child if they were one too,” Tonks admits softly.

“I would never—” Remus starts, but Tarow reaches down and shuts his jaw.

“I reached out to Charlie, since he’s married to a Veela, you know? I wanted to know how he’s handled having half-blood children, he and Abby have two new, beautiful twin daughters, Hestia and Hebe! They don’t care that they’re an interspecies couple, they’re even proud of it!” Tonks shouts, and Remus lowers his head in shame.

“Sick Werewolf dishonorable,” Meissa simply says, and Daphne covers her mouth.

“Thank you for your hospitality, but we must take our leave,” Tarow says to Bellatrix, bowing her head respectfully. Bellatrix nods back, and everyone watches as the Werewolf Alfā easily picks up Lupin off the floor. Sarah reaches out her hand to Tonks, who takes it, sliding out of her Mum’s embrace.

“Be careful,” Andromeda says, and Tonks smiles at her.

“Always,” the Beta woman replies, and then she and the Werewolves leave Grimmauld Place.

* * *

It’s a dark place in her own mind. Hermione can’t seem to find her way to the Tree-of-Tree’s, nor will Bartholomew answer her calls. She has no idea if she’s moving or if she’s still, only that the abyss around her feels cold.

 _Hello?_ She calls out, her voice ringing loudly to her ears.

Nothing replies, and Hermione doesn’t bother to try again. Closing her eyes, she tries to think of a way out she can escape her own mind. Idly, she wonders if this is how Amélie existed for the first seven years of her life.

Thinking about her twin brings Hermione a little hope. Amélie clearly isn’t here with her, so she might find a way to bring her out of this prison. Hermione pushes away the dark whisper saying that Amélie could very well just leave her here for forever. She can’t think that way, or she’ll lose her mind.

She raises her hand up to her face, trying to access her magic, but nothing happens. Sighing, Hermione combs her fingers through her hair. Taking a deep breath, she forces her body to relax, to succumb to sleep. As she drifts away into the world of dreams, Hermione wonders how much time will pass in the physical world.

* * *

_These scars long have yearned for your tender caress,_

_To bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own,_

Music. Soft, familiar, poignant words sung by a hauntingly soulful voice wafts around Hermione’s head.

_Rend my heart open, then your love profess,_

_A winding, weaving fate to which we both atone._

The words are a balm against her skin, and Hermione starts to wake faster.

_You flee, my dream come the morning,_

_Your scent—berries tart, lilac sweet,_

Hermione snaps her eyes open when a hand brushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

_To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy,_

_Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep._

She gasps as Luna brings her other hand to cup her face, still singing her song.

_The wolf, I will follow into the storm,_

_To find your heart, its passion displaced,_

It’s the melody that the Gamma has always hummed, but never once spoken.

_By ire ever-growing, hardening into stone,_

_Amidst the cold to hold you in a heated embrace._

Luna stares so deeply at Hermione, that Hermione can see her startled reflection in the Gamma’s swirling silver eyes.

_You flee, my dream come the morning,_

_Your scent—berries tart, lilac sweet,_

Hermione jolts when they start spinning through the abyss of her mind, a burst of glittering rain trailing behind them like a shower of stars.

_To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy,_

_Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep._

Luna pulls Hermione close, and suddenly they’re flying in the sky of where the Tree-of-Tree resides.

_I know not if fate, would have us live as one,_

_Or if by love’s blind, chance we’ve been bound,_

Hermione glances up when Luna points, and she gasps when she sees Amélie, her body half dissolved into a constellation.

_The wish I whispered, when it all began,_

_Did it forge a love you might never have found?_

Hermione turns to the Gamma at those words, but before she can say anything, Luna throws Hermione up to Amélie.

_You flee, my dream come the morning,_

_Your scent—berries tart, lilac sweet,_

Hermione flails as she collides with her twin, holding onto her tightly as she whirls around back to Luna. The Gamma sinks down to the base of the Tree-of-Tree, and grasps hold of a black pole lodged in its trunk.

_To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy,_

_Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep._

With those final words, Luna shatters the pole.


	17. Am I My Sister's Keeper?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, Harold, and Tracey have a road trip!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also big thanks to @Nocedo for giving me the inspiration to get out of my author's block and write again!
> 
> Also-Also, I'm in the works of trying to upload the artwork I have for this fic from DeviantArt to here, so stay tuned!

Hermione wakes up pressed against a cold, plastic wall. Blinking groggily, she tries to sit up, but her limbs fumble with the motion. Reaching up to rub her eyes, she instantly realizes the problem. Staring down at her paw, Hermione quickly glances down at herself, gasping when she sees her new form.

She’s somehow turned into a cat.

Hermione’s next thoughts are derailed when suddenly her ears pop, the sudden pain in her head making her vision swim painfully. Slumping against the plastic wall, Hermione grits her teeth and forces herself to ignore the lingering headache.

Gradually, she becomes aware of the constant, loud whirring and groaning sounds. Her ears pin back, and she turns around. Her eyes dilate, adjusting to the bright light at the other end of what must be a cat cage. A cloth flutters gently on the other side of the cage door, blocking out any chance of Hermione figuring out where she is.

Creeping closer to the cage door, Hermione takes a careful sniff, trying to identify any familiar scents.

··Hello?·· She meows. Half not expecting an answer, Hermione leaps back when the cloth is thrown away, and light floods the cage. Instinctively, she hisses, baring her fangs as her hackles raise up.

“Oh! I’m so sorry Hermione!” The booming voice of Omega Tracey Davis exclaims, and hands reach down to wave at her.

“Is she awake?” Harold’s voice floats down from wherever he is. Hermione blinks rapidly, and the view of Tracey’s shoes and socks greet her. Slowly, Hermione stalks towards the cage door, peering up. Both Tracey and Harold smile brightly down at her from their comfy looking seats.

Hermione paws at the cage door, making her intent known.

“I’m sorry Hermione, I would take you out, but it’s against the airplane’s rules,” Tracey says sympathetically.

“How are you faring?” Harold asks, and Hermione looks pointedly at the cage around her.

“Oh! Okay, where to start,” Tracey babbles, and Hermione flicks her tail impatiently.

“Start from when Amélie barbecued that Death Eater,” Harold suggests, and Hermione’s thoughts instantly turn inward.

_Amélie?_

Hermione calls for her twin in her mind, but there’s no answer. She almost delves into the place where the Tree-of-Trees resides, when she feels her Mum’s presence. A brief image of Amélie sprawled out gracefully snoring in the canopy of the Tree-of-Trees calms her racing heart. The last time she remembers seeing her twin was when Luna threw her at Amélie.

Luna . . .

Hermione’s attention switches back to Tracey when she realizes the Omega has been talking the entire time.

“—and then she suddenly vanished! Weeks passed, and everyone thought that you and she left on your quest to find Thalia, but Harold and I knew something was wrong! Although we couldn’t do anything, however it was only when I was patrolling in the Black Lake that a _Merwoman_ of all people—yes an actual Merfolk came up to me—with a pouch in her hands.”

Tracey pauses her hushed story, an odd puzzled look crossing her features as she recalls the encounter.

“It was weird, because who even approaches a seal? Anyway, I realized she wanted me to follow her deeper into the lake, and led me to the Mercheif’s own home in their village,” here, Tracey slows down her story, a pensive look flashing in her eyes.

“You were there, looking very nearly dead.”

Hermione blinks, raising a paw for Tracey to continue.

“Well, according to the Merchief, you just appeared in the middle of the village covered in ‘sludge-slugs’, or at least that I understood from my translation of Mermish. Long story short, they fought off whatever the stuff was and killed it with their voices.”

“Tracey brought you back to shore, and we tried to wake you up,” Harold adds.

“Oh yeah, the Merchief wanted me to tell you that her debt to you is repaid?” Tracey says, her voice lifting at the end of her sentence questioningly.

“We were going to take you back to Hogwarts, when a Raven delivered an envelope with our names on it,” Harold shuffles around in his seat, and he pulls out three tickets, although they’re the strangest looking tickets Hermione’s ever seen.

“These were inside, as with this note,” Harold reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small slip of parchment.

“ _‘I have provided three one-way tickets from Muggle London, Heathrow Airport to the Bangor International Airport in Bangor, Maine for your use. The provided Portkey will take you to a secure location close to the London airport, where you shall find adequate props and proper Muggle clothing to blend in. It is paramount that you two stay by Hermione, and keep her company on her journey._

 _P.S. Howl-Howl is willing to accept shiny objects in lieu of treats,’_ ” Harold stuffs the slip back into his pocket, and sighs.

“I’d recognize Luna’s handwriting anywhere, so, here we are. The Raven, Howl-Howl was the one to actually transfigure you into a cat. I’ll turn you back when we land, which is about three hours,” the Beta finishes, and Tracey sighs exhaustedly.

“It’s already been three long hours,” the Omega groans.

“Isn’t it longer to fly from Britain to Hawaii?” Harold questions.

“Yeah, but I usually fly First Class, not Commercial,” Tracey rubs her eyes. Tuning out Harold and Tracey’s conversation, Hermione settles down, lying her head down on her paws. Unable to sleep due to the plane’s insanely loud noises, Hermione settles in for a long three hours.

* * *

Harold, Tracey, and Hermione can’t get off the plane fast enough.

“Welcome to Bangor, Maine, local time is seven-twenty AM, the weather is . . .”

Tracey and Harold turn the corner, and Hermione doesn’t hear the rest of the announcement. The cloth is back over the cage, so Hermione can only hear what’s going on around her.

“What’s the date again?” Tracey’s muffled voice asks above Hermione’s cage.

“Um, December third? Or fourth, I don’t remember,” Harold’s replies. The sounds of hundreds of other people walking by puts Hermione on edge, and she startles when she hears weird something heavy sliding out of the way. That sound is immediately drowned out by the unnatural, echoing sounds of what must be Muggle vehicles.

“Uh, Harold? Which bus do we take?” Tracey’s nervous voice seems even more high pitched to Hermione’s sensitive ears.

“Er—this one?” The Beta replies just as nervously, and Hermione’s jostled in her cage as Tracey and Harold hurry onto the bus.

“Headed to Long Term Parking!” The bus driver announces in a thick accent. Hermione’s cage is placed on Tracey’s lap, and she feels the lurching of the bus driving off.

“I can feel her aura clearer now,” Tracey mutters close to Hermione’s cage, and Hermione’s interest pikes.

“Where?” Harold whispers.

“Somewhere south, I can’t pin it down easily, although that’s probably because I’ve never tried to longran—”

“What’s in the cage?!” A loud, young child’s voice asks with the same heavy accent, interrupting Tracey.

“Use your inside voice dear,” an older woman’s voice, presumably the child’s parent scolds.

“Uh, um, my clas—”

“Our cat flew with us, her name is Lurch,” Harold cuts in Tracey’s stuttering answer.

“Oh! Can I pet her?! Can I?! Can I?!” The child squeals loudly, and her mother sighs.

“I’m sorry, you can’t pet her, but you can see her,” the Beta says in an easygoing tone, and slowly, the cloth in front of Hermione’s cage is lifted, and the door is opened. Harold’s hands appear at the opening, and Hermione quickly stretches before letting the Beta pick her up.

He settles her on top of his lap, and Hermione blinks up gratefully at him. Ignoring the Muggle girl’s excited chittering, Hermione surveys the rest of the bus. Most of the occupants glance at her, and some just outright stare, but her attention is directed to a poster on the opposite wall of the bus.

Flicking her tail onto Tracey’s leg, she directs the Omega’s attention to the poster.

“Oh excuse me, do you know what city is on that poster?” Tracey politely cuts into the conversation that Harold and the mother of Muggle child are having.

“Southwest Harbor? That’s about an hour’s drive southeast of here,” the mother replies.

“Why is it called Southwest if it’s southeast?” Harold asks. The mother shrugs.

“Who knows, but it’s a great city, you ought to visit it sometime. It’s right next to Acadia National Park, which is honestly the most magical place we’ve ever experienced,” the mother says with fond remembrance. Harold, Tracey, and Hermione all share a look that goes unnoticed by the Muggle mother and child as the bus slows to a stop.

“It was nice chatting with you two,” the mother says in passing as all of them exit the bus, the pair walking away towards their vehicle. The bus driver pulls away, leaving Harold, Tracey, and Hermione alone in the Long Term Parking.

“Well, I guess we’re walking to Southwest Harbor, unless you brought any brooms?” Harold sighs.

“Fresh out of brooms,” Tracey sighs, and they quickly hurry out of the parking lot, across the street, and into the nearest wooded area.

* * *

Properly stretching her body in her normal form, Hermione yawns as she reclines in the back of the truck. Upon entering the wooded area, Hermione had morphed back into her normal form and they had disposed of their Muggle props. Staring out the window at the open and wooded landscape, Hermione purses her lips, trying to think of a way to break the tense silence.

The crinkle of Tracey’s map is the only sound other than Harold driving the truck. They acquired that map when they had passed through a small town a few minutes back from the Community Connector Office—where everyone stared gobsmacked at Hermione because of her height.

That’s where they were directed to where the Budget Truck Rental was across the block on Union Avenue.It only took a few well placed _Confundo’s_ —curtsey of Tracey—and they had their rental. They agreed to let Harold drive, since he was the only one who knew how all the buttons on the dashboard worked and what the road signs meant.

“How long do I keep going straight?” Harold ask.

“Hm, until we get to Coldbrook Road; that’s where we turn left,” Tracey replies.

“Got it.”

Silence falls again.

A cricket starts to chirp, and Hermione wonders how in Rozanica’s name is there a bloody cricket alive in the Muggle vehicle. Tracey puts down the map, and readjusts the seatbelt with a huff.

“It’s for your safety,” Harold says idly, and the Omega rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m aware, it’s just digging into my neck.”

“Try pulling up the collar of your shirt,” Harold replies.

Silence again.

They turn left at Coldbrook Road.

“So, Hermione, is there anything you want to know about Thalia?” Harold asks awkwardly.

“Keep going straight,” Tracey says offhandedly.

“Tell me everything, please,” Hermione says, and Harold does.

* * *

Alpha Thalia Carrow is first and foremost a very brash person. Before she was even Sorted, she not only managed to knock over three sets of armor, nearly burn a portrait, and even set fire to Professor Snape’s robes. Harold had never seen the Beta man so enraged, and she was assigned a whole three month’s worth of detention.

So come Sorting time, it came as a great shock to everyone that she was Sorted into Hufflepuff. She even joined their Quidditch team as a Beater, and a damn good one at that. However, Thalia didn’t seem to care about House divides, and easily made friends with loads of students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

She even would switch tables whenever she felt like it. She hated the pumpkin juice, and drank only water. She was equally in a constant state of amazement by the number of Alphas and Betas at Hogwarts, and disgusted by their behavior towards Omegas. She had a Great Grey Owl called Soot, which followed her everywhere.

On that subject, Thalia loved animals. She was even seen trying to cuddle with one of Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts, and it even tried to hug her back. Or it was trying to eat her, regardless, she still walked out of the stupidly brave situation with all limbs intact. She also was a great duelist, and excelled at all of her classes, easily rising to the top.

The Slytherins were weary of her because of this, and Harold got the impression that they were divided on how best to handle the Alpha. One one side, there was the new King and Queen of Slytherin, Daphne and Pansy, who didn’t want an interloper meddling with their House affairs, and on the other, there was the Beta of Slytherin, Tracey Nettlehead, who wanted to discover more about the mysterious transfer.

However, as Harold got to know her better as a fellow Housemate, he and a few others discovered that Thalia had a deeply thoughtful way of approaching everyday things and about her own existence. In quite a few ways, she reminded Harold of Hermione.

“What do you mean by that?” Hermione asks, and Tracey finally decides to speak up, handing Harold the map.

“Carrow was very charismatic, naturally so. She would walk into a room, and it felt like the sun was shining down upon us after a long gloomy day,” the Omega explains.

“Your charisma is like the moon, still natural, but more subtle. Always present, but more so when things get dark. Seemingly cold, but actually a welcoming fire at the end of a long day,” Tracey turns to look Hermione in the eyes.

“The House was very evenly split between Daphne and Nettlehead. Honestly I think some of your aura must have rubbed off on them, because they both had a lot of pull, both in and out of Slytherin,” the Omega says.

“. . . Is there anything else that you can tell me? Perhaps more about how Thalia and I are alike?” Hermione hedges, but Tracey’s already shaking her head.

“If you’re referring to the secret the other Hogwarts Royalty knew about Carrow, I haven’t the faintest clue as to what it was. I suppose Nettlehead might have been told due to her disposition towards Carrow, but they didn’t tell Daphne or Pansy,” she says in a sympathetic tone.

“Well then,” Hermione grumbles, a little miffed that she doesn’t know what connection she and Thalia have.

“Can you describe her?”

“Oh yeah, she had really cool hair. It was really short—a dark-auburn color I think—and she had it styled so all her curls were facing forwards in a wavy pattern,” Harold raves.

“Carrow had a more willow body type than I expected from a Quidditch player, although given her tall height it fits,” Tracey muses.

“Yeah, it looked like a swimmer’s type, actually now that I think about it,” Harold adds.

“‘Swimmer’s?’” Hermione asks.

“Uh-huh, I’d sometimes see her go to the Black Lake to swim. Why she did it is beyond me, those waters are bloody freezing,” Harold shivers at the thought of it while Hermione’s eyes widen.

“I remember Snape giving her a vicious tongue-lashing about breaking curfew to go swimming, but Merlin I’ll never forget her response!” Tracey laughs.

“I heard about that! Didn’t she tell off Snape to not be such a foul loathsome little cockroach?” Harold snorts, and Tracey giggles, nodding.

“Now that’s some Troll level idiocy,” Hermione gasps, and Tracey nods.

“I know right? Anyway, she had detention for the rest of the year cleaning the cauldrons without—what’s that?”

* * *

All of their eyes snap to a blinking red light on the dashboard, the clicking sound foretelling an ominous end to their rental truck. A low, clunking noise bangs under the truck, and Harold turns onto the side of the road and breaks a little sharply.

“Hold up,” the Beta leaps out, and checks the origin of the noise.

“What is it?” Tracey asks, rolling down all the windows

“I have good news, bad news and worse news,” Harold gulps as he stays in his crouched position next to the rental.

“Bad news first,” Tracey sighs.

“We’re low on gas—very low on gas, those fuckers at the rental must have only started us out with half a tank, and the closest gas station is too far out.”

“Okay, then what’s the worse news?” Hermione asks.

“Well, if I remember correctly from overhearing my Dad teach Jared about cars, the exhaust pipe is broken.”

“Which means what?” Tracey demands.

“It means that we can’t drive in this rental anymore, or all the fumes that are supposed to go through the pipe might go through the rest of the truck and _boom!_ Sayonara truck!” Harold demonstrates the _boom_ sound with his hands.

“Then what the bloody hell is the good news?” Tracey exclaims.

“There’s another rental place about three-fourths of a kilometer away from where we are! Check the map!” He says smugly, and Tracey does.

“It’s Penske Truck Rental right?” She asks.

“We should get a move on,” Hermione says, getting out of the truck and helping Tracey down.

“I wish we could just find some brooms to fly to Southwest Harbor,” the Omega mutters to herself.

“Well, at least this truck lasted as long as it did,” Harold says, and they trudge off alongside the road.

* * *

Penske Truck Rental definitely more expensive than Budget Truck Rental, and this time Tracey feels a little guilty about _Confundoing_ the Muggles into giving them a rental.

“I mean we’re stealing from them, shouldn’t we at least give them something in return?” The Omega had asked as Harold gets back into the driver’s seat.

“Not if we want the police to come after us when your charm wears off,” he had grunted, and that was that. The drive in this rental was much faster, and soon, they passed through Ellsworth Falls, Red Rock Corner, Town Hill, and Someville.

“Are we there yet?” Hermione asks, and Tracey and Harold both tsk.

“You never say that on a road trip, that only makes it longer,” Harold says in a sagely voice.

“Really?” Hermione raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s Muggle mind magic, that sentence is like a taboo. You say it and your journey will force you to enjoy every last bit of it,” the Omega says seriously, and Harold barely holds in his amused snicker.

“What? It’s true! I’ve experienced it myself! And so now I enjoy any journey I go on!” The Omega’s indignant outburst causes Harold to burst out laughing, which turns into all of the yelling as he had accidentally swerved into the opposite lane of traffic. Fortunately, no one was hurt, except for Harold’s confidence in his driving.

* * *

They finally make it to Southwest Harbor at sun down, the orange and yellow hues making the sky glow like a dying ember. Driving around the Harbor, Tracey closes her eyes, concentrating. Harold stops near the Inn at Southwest, a contemplative look on his face.

“How long are we staying here for?” He whispers to Hermione.

“I don’t know, I’m hoping for at least a week, but it might take longer than that,” Hermione whispers back, and Tracey snaps open her eyes.

“I got her! She must have been within magical warding which prevented me from pinning her location!” The Omega exclaims excitedly.

“Where to captain?” Harold asks as he starts up the engine of the truck.

“South, dead south!” Tracey points, and Harold drives.

* * *

They round the curve of the Acadia National Park, passing through the small fishing towns of Manset, Seawall, and Wonderland. As they get closer to the edge of the land, the more accurate spaced out the buildings get. Finally, Harold turns to the parking lot of the Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse.

The three of them get out, looking around at the empty parking lot. Tracey, however, is looking up at the Lighthouse, where a lone figure silhouetted against the beautiful sunset is leaning against the railing. Hermione squints, and raises her hand to shield her eyes.

“Thalia,” she murmurs, and as if the Alpha had heard Hermione, Alpha Thalia Carrow turns around.

— . —

 _Confundos_ = Confundus Charm 2x


	18. The White Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even dead, Eto still manages to fuck everyone over, (◐‿◑)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still so much to happen I'm fairly certain that I'm going have to extend the amount chapters!

They stare at each other for a long time, both of them unsure how to proceed. Tracey gives Hermione a gentle push on the back.

“Well, go on,” the Omega says, and Hermione hesitates no longer. Morphing out her wings, she flies up to the top of the Lighthouse, Thalia’s eyes going wide as she backs up to give Hermione some landing space. The instant Hermione touches down and morphs her wings away, she realizes with a shock that she’s met the Alpha before.

Those amber-accented dark-green eyes seem to shine brightly at Hermione, burning into her skin with a familial familiarity.

“Um, hi, I can’t believe you’re here,” Thalia says shakily, her shocked voice tinged with her mixed Brazilian and British accent. She rakes her fingers through her hair—it’s longer than Hermione last saw it, but it’s still styled the same.

“Do you remember me?” Hermione asks softly, her memory casting back to the group of witches she saved during her time with Fenrir’s—now Tarow’s—Pack. Inwardly, Hermione’s smacking herself for not putting together that the mysterious “Thals” was part of the exchange student friend group.

“No? Yes? Do you mean we’ve met before? You know who I am?” The Alpha asks with barely subdued excitement, taking a step closer. Hermione notes with a little egotistical satisfaction that she’s five centimeters taller than Thalia.

“Well, I know some things about you, but I—”

“OH MY MERLIN! I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT YOU KNOW ME!” Thalia shrieks, lunging forwards and wrapping Hermione in a tight embrace. The instant they touch, a loud buzzing suddenly begins to drone in Hermione’s ears.

“We have so much to catch up on! You have no idea how long I’ve waited to find anyone from my birth family, and Mum—my adoptive one, that is—is so supportive . . .” Thalia’s voice is nearly drowned out by the now pounding thrum rattling Hermione’s brain. Her vision starts to blur and haze like she’s lightheaded, but she’s never felt more grounded.

Everything seems to move slowly to Hermione’s perception, even her own body as Thalia pulls back, her mouth moving, forming words that are just ringing bells to Hermione’s deafened ears. She isn’t aware that her eyes have morphed black, and she barely registers the Alpha’s sudden concern.

_. . . There . . ._

A whisper from a long dead voice caresses Hermione’s thoughts.

“Hermione? _Hermione?_ What’s wrong? Can you hear me? Oh Merlin— _hey Harold, Tracey! There’s something wrong with Hermione!_ ”

A shrill scream.

_. . . Can . . ._

Hermione stumbles as she’s pulled close against a frantically beating heart, dragged and pressed up against something distantly cold.

“Harold! Her eyes are pitch black!”

Hysteria, that Hermione is certain of.

_. . . Only . . ._

She feels a slight tug of gravity and a thud.

“What did you do?!”

“Nothing! I just hugged her and she suddenly became—this!”

_. . . Be . . ._

Hermione feels numb fingers on her face, her eyes too unfocused to see anything clearly.

“Harold! What is she feeling?!”

A clear demand, sharp and clear even though fear is evident.

_. . . ONE . . ._

The mind of Hermione is suddenly lashed and tethered by the binding tendrils of the curse alive and pumping in her blood. She silently screams as she’s shuffled off a cliff inside herself, falling,

falling,

falling,

sinking,

drowning,

crying.

_AWAKEN!_

* * *

The true host of the malevolent magic opens her eyes, and a mere marionette filled with a will and drive not her own. Despite her invisible yet very tangible strings, she locates her Mark quickly. Hatred withers her bones, blooming in every crevice of struggling free will left in her.

Her hand is raised to the tear stained cheeks of her Mark, fingers lighting ablaze as the magic pries open her clenched jaws, speaking with her unwilling tongue and voice.

“ _There can only be one._ ”

* * *

Harold blinks away the blinding black spots in his eyes as his back and head flare with sharp pain. Trying to sit up with loud keening noise in his ears is harder than he thought, as a stabbing headache arcs behind his eyes. Dully, he hears Tracey somewhere to his left, her loud voice cutting through the earth shaking, heated _booms_ sounding all around them.

Suddenly he’s snatch up by his arm, Tracey screaming as she throws them to the side as a whole _bloody fucking_ tree _on fire_ crashes down where they just were.

“We have to get the water! _WATER HAROLD! NOW!_ ”

Harold’s body jerks into overdrive, running on instinct as he and Tracey weave between the burning forest to the ocean.

“What happened?!” He yells, and immediately hacks as his lungs are instantly filled with unnatural, acidic tasting smoke. Tracey drags him as he hacks, and she points, ignoring his question.

“Get ready to jump!”

Harold’s eyes widen as they near the short—being a relative term—cliff. A loud cracking _bang_ like the sound of a dozen fireworks exploding sounds overhead, and Tracey lurches to a stop, jerking him a different direction with a colorful curse. Harold looks up, expecting to see the twinkling night sky, but instead thick, billowing dark grey smoke light up by roaring, towering flames clogs the sight of stars.

But what finally catches his attention, is the sickening feeling of pure, _rage_ , clawing at him from every direction.

“Look out!”

Harold glances up to see Tracey push him out of the way of an errant fireball the size of a truck. He clutches his head as a spear of fury pierces through him, and he nearly drops to his knees at its ferocity.

Distantly, he hears his name. His subconscious recognizes that Tracey is on the other side of the fireball, trying to reach him, but his conscious focuses on the emotional firestorm howling about them. Something bids him to look up to the sky once more, and he does, his hands lowering from their painfully tight grip in his hair.

A roar of frustration echoes out, and a vengeful, avian angel flies through the smoke, her body alight with her unholy flames. She raises her hands towards the ocean, and a column fire—so blistering hot that even Harold can feel it’s oppressive heat from the ground—bursts out from her palm.

That fire cuts through the smoke like butter, parting it easily, allowing a second glimpse of another angel wildly dodging the attack. Harold gasps as Hermione swipes her hand through the air, and sparkling fire slashes towards Thalia.

Harold screams, but he can’t do anything as one of the Alpha’s wings is clipped, and she spirals out of control. His gaze snaps back to Hermione, whose already raising her hands again for the final blow. Thalia manages to land on the top part of the destroyed Lighthouse that landed in shallow waters after the initial blast.

Harold notices that Tracey is already next to the struggling Alpha, trying to pull her into deeper waters. A flicker winks in the corner of his eye, and he whirls around, eyes searching around him, when they land on a strange girl his age that wasn’t there before. Unlike the forest engulfed in the throes of burning, she doesn’t seem at all affected.

He tries to focus on her, but his eyes keep betraying him, refusing to note any of her features.

“Help her,” he pleads, and the strange girl nods grimly, pointing up to the sky. Harold looks, and gasps when he sees a third fully transformed Veela fly between Hermione and Thalia. He yells wordlessly in fear as Hermione attacks, but the strange girl grabs him as he mindlessly lunges in Thalia’s direction.

“She’s safe, see, my friend is with her!” the strange girl points, and indeed, there’s yet another fully transformed Veela helping Thalia fly to shore. Although, this one isn’t actually fully Veela, as Harold doesn’t see the signature presence of the more avian features.

“GM! I tried to hold back the Muggles, and I lost N—you-know-who—but the MACUSA are on their way!” Another girl appears next to the strange girl, and Harold startles. She too is unrecognizable to his eyes, but her voice, he knows that voice . . . but where?

“Who are you?” Harold demands, and the strange girls stare at him.

“You can’t know,” the second one states.

“Please don’t ask us, we can’t tell you, but trust us that we’re here to help,” GM replies softly. Suddenly a fully transformed Veela slams into the ground before them, making Harold leap out of his skin. All her feathers are lightly singed, but otherwise she looks fine.

“Nyx!” The second strange girl shouts in relief, surging towards the Omega Veela to wrap her tightly in a hug. Nyx wraps one arm around the strange girl, and her pure-white, black flecked raptor eyes drill into Harold’s.

“There’s no time to explain, but you have to use your Empath abilities on A—Amélie, now Harold!”

He gapes at her in shock.

“How—”

“Just do it already! She’s dying—your childhood friend is _dying!_ ” Nyx screeches, and the sky lights up as MACUSA Aurors suddenly soar over the forest on their brooms, trying to douse it.

“You’ve always known how to do it,” GM encourages. Harold gulps, and locates Hermione, no, Amélie, in the sky. She and the other Veela are duking it out, each evenly matched, although he can see the newer one starting to flag under Amélie’s inexhaustible brute force.

Allowing his eyes to unfocus slightly, he breathes in and out, and raises his hand. His sense of mind broadens, and he’s suddenly acutely aware of the swirling emotions of the girls around him. Institutional intuition tells him that Nyx and the second girl are too volatile for the emotion he needs, and so he turns to GM.

* * *

She smiles at him as he reaches to her with his mind, his mental fingers grasping at the threads of calm that pulsate from her chest. He pulls gently, yet firmly at the threads, the things themselves thick and heavy as if they were drenched in water complying smoothly to his will. Carefully he spools them around, and then he raises his physical hands.

Aiming with one hand, the other pulls back to his ear, the glopping, glistening threads of _calm calm calm_ shiver in anticipation as they’re strung tightly.

Ready to launch.

A single breath out, and Harold releases the threads, his mind shooting the threads towards his target with a clear _twang_ that only he can hear and see. His aim is true, and the effect is instantaneous.

Amélie rears away from her opponent with a cry of shock and pain, dropping in the air a whole meter. The other Veela doesn’t waste her chance, and she dives at Amélie, grabbing her face and pulling her close. Hermione’s twin shakes, and Harold senses the fires around them switch between that distinct rage and fear.

“Another,” GM whispers, and Harold collects another supply of her calm, shooting it again. This time, Amélie fights his power, shaking and letting out this terrible screaming.

“Make room!” Harold glances at the half transformed Omega Veela land on the cliff with Thalia and Tracey.

“Thanks for the assist,” Thalia grunts, her face pinched in pain.

“Yes that’s all great and dandy, but who are all of you and—”

“Sorry Aunt Tracey,” Nyx says, and snaps her fingers. Tracey’s eyes roll into the back of her head, and the second strange girl catches her before she hits the ground.

“Sorry, but we can’t leave anything up to chance,” GM apologizes, but Harold understands with a clarity he’s sure is from his Empath instincts. All of them are impossible girls that shouldn’t exist—that don’t exist, and yet, here they all are. His eyes glance down to the twinkling golden chain around the GM’s neck. His gaze trails down to the tell-tale indent of the device tucked underneath her shirt.

“Are you up to some good fashion curse-breaking . . .Thalia?” The half-formed Omega Veela asks the Alpha with forced humor.

“Yeah, yes I am, I’m never going to allow some dark curse to control my sister,” Thalia straightens up, determination reinforcing her battered and burnt body. The Alpha lifts her wings, and with a powerful pump, she launches herself air-born. Harold immediately looks to Tracey, his mental and physical hands moving to help Thalia any way he can.

GM steps back to allow him room as he dips his fingers in threads singing sluggishly of _sleep sleep sleep_ , and fires at Amélie. The once vengeful Veela now roars weakly, now fending off both the strange Veela, Thalia, and now Harold’s dose of _sleep_.

All of them want to watch the scene unfold, but they have to move quickly as the fire that had somehow been contained away from them now splutters towards them. Cursing, Nyx girl growls something about the MACUSA Aurors always ruining things, and they all clamor down to the beach.

“You do know we’re going to have to _Obliviate_ you, right?” the second strange girl says, and Harold nods.

“I know,” he says, and squints hard at her.

“Fleur?” He mutters, and the girl’s eyes go comically wide with fear.

“Shush! Don’t even think about it!”

Harold opens his mouth, but he loses his train of thought when Amélie, Thalia, and the other fully transformed Veela crash into the shallow waters next to them, the latter two holding on tightly onto the limp, but still struggling former.

“Quick! Someone help hold her!” The other Alpha Veela shouts, and Nyx leaps to do so. Dragging Amélie to the beach, Thalia drops to her knees and cups Amélie’s face, forcing the Alfā Veela to look into her eyes.

“Come on Amélie or Hermione or whoever’s in there, fight back,” Thalia murmurs, and Harold blinks when a single raindrop lands on his nose. A quick look up to see the MACUSA Aurors summoning a rainstorm with the help of a Thunderbird.

“How come we haven’t been spotted?” He asks to no one in particular.

“That would be GM’s doing,” the half transformed Veela whispers tiredly. Harold falls silent, as they watch Thalia muttering under her breath, her eyes locked with Amélie’s crazed ones. The Alpha takes a deep breath, and touches her forehead against Amélie’s, and they both let out a sharp gasp.

Then a wall of writhing red and black magic pours out of every square inch of Amélie’s body, seeping against the sand and eating away it with an erosive hiss. Both Nyx and the other Veela flinch away, grabbing at their hands in confusion. Harold narrows his eyes, and glancing around, he realizes that the other girls can’t see what he can.

Not a second later, Harold collapses from the onslaught of _pain pAiN PAiN PAIN_.

* * *

Amélie isn’t sure what she’s doing, or what her body is doing to be exact. One moment she’s with Tracey and Harold patrolling for Death Eaters, and the next . . . she’s here, or wherever here is. It’s an out of body experience almost, her eyes are closed, and for some reason she can’t seem to open them.

She stretched out her mind, but she can’t find a trace of Hermione anywhere. It’s as if her twin has vanished from her reach, which is impossible. She always knows where Hermione is, or she should.

Who told her that?

She can’t remember.

Amélie decides it doesn’t really matter anyways. Straining her senses, she tries to get a grasp on what’s happening to her. Her thoughts turn Daphne, but they’re muted. She can’t feel the full extent of her Mate bond now, and she shivers, letting out a silent wail at the realization. So this must be what Hermione feels, or the lack there of.

No wonder her twin doesn’t know how to act for her Mate.

Amélie feels a brief flicker of warmth lighting up and dying down at random parts of her body. It’s quite comforting, if not a tiny bit annoying at the inconsistency. Suddenly, that all changes when a splash of freezing cold smacks her across her face, and she rears up. Snarling, Amélie wants to lash out, but with nothing to attack, she’s left just fuming.

Something breaths against her closed eyelids, tickling them barely open. Amélie tries to open them further, but she can only glimpse glowing green orbs before her eyes close again. It startles her, and Amélie draws away from the haunting color, her mind reaching for the Mate bond that won’t respond.

Another splash of cold smacks against her neck this time, and it positively sears. Amélie screams, and that voice that jerked her awake swoops back with a twisted vengeance.

_DON’T fight, SWEET thing, DON’T think, DEAR thing, DON’T DON’T DON’T disobey, MY thing._

The voice hisses. Amélie whines, her body automatically obeying that voice that’s been ingrained into her head since childhood.

_DON’T cry, POOR thing, DON’T fail, STUPID thing, DON’T sleep, LITTLE thing, DON’T DON’T DON’T._

Maman’s voice croons and Amélie cringes, but she listens. She knows that tone of voice, it’s one of disgusted disappointment, one that would warrant Maman not speaking to her for days on end. Weeks if she was really disobedient.

DON’T fly, BROKEN thing, DON’T flee, NAUGHTY th—

Amélie gasps as her whole body is dipped in an ice-cold bath. Shrieking, the cold chases away Maman’s spitting words, and Amélie feels weariness creeping on her. It makes her want to open her eyes, but her body fights against herself. It hurts her inside, hearing Maman, all her words at some point when she was alive repeated again.

Amélie feels her long buried sadness throb in her heart, and she savagely tries to squash it down. Feeling self-deprecating for herself won’t do her any favors in life, but that sadness stubbornly persists. Amélie knows it wants out, but she won’t let it. If Hermione isn’t bothered by Maman’s treatment, then neither should she.

Although her twin was also magically conditioned by Maman to not be bothered.

Amélie pushes that thought away. The ice-cold is starting to fade, and Amélie secretly fears hearing Maman again, and yet she yearns for it.

_don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t—_

Amélie gasps sharply when Maman’s softly returning hisses are drowned by the sudden brilliance of magic sweeping through her. Her eyes snap open, and she stares into the face of the lost one. The one she once begged Maman to let her kill. The Alpha—no, that’s not right—the _Alfā_ , seems to have a glowing halo around her head.

“Please come back, Amélie, Hermione, I know you’re in there, please, I can’t lose you two too,” Thalia continuously pleas under her breath, her Mendonica eyes beseeching. Amélie blinks at her, shock flittering through her as she is purged of the Blood-Curse. It’s screaming in pain as it leaves her, and Amélie wants to smile at the sadistic pleasure of it.

However, her attention diverts to the strangled warble sound, and her eyes widen when she sees Harold collapse in a fetal position, shaking.

_Amélie?_

Amélie nearly weeps when she hears Hermione’s sleep-drugged voice.

»I’m here, I’m here,« she breathes, still watching strange girls try and help Harold. Thalia breaks out in a smile, and Amélie squints at it’s overly shininess of it. It’s like looking into the sun.

»Thank Merlin’s left nut!« Amélie’s half-sister exclaims, and she’s pulled into a bone-crushing hug. Grunting at it, her body morphs back into its normal form on its own, and she awkwardly pats Thalia’s weeping form. Her fingers brush over the badly injured wings, and she lights her fingers on Cursed Fire.

Instantly, she senses high aggression behind her, and Amélie cranes her head over her shoulder, glaring at two Veela in their True-Forms.

»Bugger off, or I’ll roast you two alive,« Amélie threatens darkly, acutely aware of Thalia’s frail body. The two Veela look shocked at her protectiveness, and truth to be told it shocks her too.

»Alright, alright, no need to get your feathers in a bunch,« the one with pure-white eyes snarks, and Amélie sneers reflexively at her.

»You’re healing her,« the yellow eyed Veela murmurs, and Amélie rolls her eyes.

»Of course I am duckwit, not just anyone can heal with Cursed Fire,« this she says smugly as she runs her hands over Thalia’s injuries.

»I thought only Thrall could do that,« another Veela—who must have less Veela blood in her than whatever other blood she has—says.

»If you’d paid attention to the Elder teachings, you’d know that Thrall can only do so much, it’s superficial healing. It doesn’t even hold a feather to Cursed Fire healing,« Amélie drawls importantly, and she extinguishes her flames once she’s all done.

»Rozanica, I knew your Maman is a Cursed Fire prodigy, but it’s another thing to actually see it,« a Veela that isn’t transformed but Amélie can’t really see says, and she tenses.

_Maman?_

Hermione repeats groggily. Amélie closes her eyes, and slowly gets to her feet, Thalia standing with her. Without turning around, she presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“I swear, to thrice-damned Rozanica, if you all just changed the timeline, I am going to strangle you all,” Amélie growls behind clenched teeth.

_What’s happening Amélie? You’re confusing me,_

Hermione says a little clearer, but Amélie ignores her twin.

“Don’t worry, it’s all supposed to happen.”

Amélie snaps her head towards the speaker, and her eyes widen. The girl just smiles secretly, and Amélie rubs her face.

“Amélie? Or Hermione, do you know them?” Thalia asks, her eyes glancing around, but keep landing on the half-transformed Veela.

“Close your eyes Thalia,” Amélie says wearily, and she ignores her half-sister’s pestering questions as she turns around to face the Veela with those yellow-eyes-that-are-now-glowing-green-eyes.

They don’t say anything, not even as two flashes of spellwork light up behind her, and one hits Thalia. Amélie doesn’t say a word as the impossible girl in front of her raises her taloned hand and Amélie’s and Hermione’s go blank.

— . —

 _Obliviate_ = Memory Charm


	19. The Black Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family is crazy sometimes ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Hermione slowly wakes up to a gentle, stroking pressure combing along her scalp. Shifting in her half-asleep haze, she winces when aches all over her body flare up. Groggily, she opens her eyes, blinking and wiping the sleep away. The hand still combing through her hair doesn’t pause, and Hermione’s forces her eyes to adjust to the bright morning light.

Looking to her left, her jaw drops and her eyes widen when she beholds one Gamma Luna Lovegood. The Gamma just smiles happily at Hermione, her hand pausing, her fingers still thickly entangled in Hermione’s locks.

“Good morning, my Liege-Lady, did you sleep well?” She asks. Hermione gapes for a second before she replies.

“Er, yes, I did, thank you.”

Luna looks pleased at this, and she snuggles closer to Hermione, her swirling, silver eyes staring intensely into Hermione’s.

“You took quite the fall, Miss Carrow was over the moon with fright,” Luna says dreamily, and Hermione blinks in confusion.

“Fall?”

“Yes, my Liege-Lady, don’t you remember? There shouldn’t be any Whackspurts in your mind.”

Hermione turns her mind inward, trying to recall how she ended up here. The last thing she clearly remembers is Thalia pulling her into a hug, and . . . and . . . the Alpha’s over excitement pushed them off the railing of the Lighthouse. Hermione frowns at the memory, for it feels _off_ somehow.

They fell off the cliff side of the Lighthouse, and she apparently had tried to morph into her True-Veela form, but Amélie had overreacted. Her twin had thought Thalia was trying to attack them, and so she lit their body on Cursed Fire, severely burning Thalia and in turn forcing the Alpha’s own Veela wings to shift out.

Hermione gasps, sitting up with a lurch.

“Thalia’s a Veela,” she whispers, and she feels Amélie stirs in her mind.

“Obviously,” Luna says simply, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Hermione’s ear. She remembers Harold and Tracey racing down to the beach, barely escaping the wild forest fire Amélie started from her trying to burn Thalia.

They got her under control with Harold’s use of his Empath abilities, and then Thalia directed them to her home: Black Island. Hermione had passed out suddenly just as the Veela Alpha had brought her across her home’s doorstep.

“Where’s Harold? Tracey? Are they okay? Is Thalia alright? Why are you here? Wh—”

Luna swiftly covers Hermione’s mouth with her hand, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Everything shall be revealed when they’re ready. Now can I talk to Amélie?”

Hermione gapes again, but she nudges her twin in her mind, who grumpily switches, but it’s a bit different. Instead of Hermione feeling a mere watcher in her own body, it almost feels normal, except for the distinct awareness that she can’t move her body on her own free will.

“I’m only half switching,” Amélie says with Hermione’s mouth.

“Now what do you want?” Hermione’s twin asks a bit rudely, looking down at the lying Gamma, but it doesn’t bother Luna at all.

“Are you still going to kill her?” Luna asks, confusing Hermione. Amélie purses her lips, and then half shrugs.

“. . . Only if she gives me a reason too, like _pushing us off a Lighthouse railing,_ ” Amélie drawls, narrowing her eyes at Luna. Hermione doesn’t know what to make of the strange, shared look between the Gamma and her twin, both of them seemingly daring each other to say what they know.

Suddenly Luna chuckles, and she stretches out before wrapping herself around Hermione’s torso, her head resting in her lap.

“The sunset is rising,” Luna says airily, and Amélie raises an eyebrow at her.

“So it is,” Hermione’s twin mutters.

“There is much I can not say, but I can tell you this; your presence brings the end, so choose carefully.”

The Gamma looks up at her seriously, and both Amélie and Hermione swallow hard.

“I see,” Amélie says weakly.

“If you are the Kings, who are your Queens? Who is your Castles? Who are your Knights? Your Rooks? Your discardable Pawns? Where do you defeat your opponent?”

“Don’t you mean ‘ _where_ is your Castle’ and ‘ _how_ do you defeat your opponent’?” Amélie asks, but Luna shakes her head.

“Wizard Chess is ‘where’ and ‘when’ rather than ‘how’ and ‘why’. Can you tell me your set?” The Gamma asks dreamily, making no sense whatsoever.

“Well, Queens are the most powerful piece on the board, so Daphne is obviously my mine, and Fleur theoretically should be Hermione’s, but she’s not really available,” Amélie says, and Luna hums thoughtfully.

“There are so many other people that can fit the rest of your categories, but I think I know who the Pawns are,” Amélie says cautiously. Luna just stares up at her expectantly.

“Pawns are the least powerful, basically decoys and cannon fodder, that is until they reach the other side and can be switched for a better, stronger piece . . . so applying that definition, my Pawns are the Hogwarts students . . .” Amélie trails off, wincing at Hermione’s silent, mental anger at that.

“And?” Luna yawns.

“And . . . What are you alluding to? That I use Hogwarts as a shield in this ‘sunset’ you’re hinting at?” Amélie huffs, and Luna places a hand over Amélie’s heart.

“You have killed enough snakes, my Liege-Lady, it is time for another to take on that burden,” Luna says in a soft, dreamy voice.

“What do you know, Seer?” Amélie demands, but Luna ignores her.

“Fine. Now where have you been? I couldn’t give a flying pig’s ass, but at least answer for Hermione’s sake,” Amélie snarks, and Luna laughs.

“The Lady Sorrow goes where She wishes, and I walk behind Her, leaving no trace of Her golden tracks,” the Gamma gestures towards the window, where Amélie spots a black bird take to the skies from its perch.

“You speak to other deities other than your House Patron?” Amélie asks incredulously. Hermione wants to ask what her twin and Luna are talking about, but her twin keeps her at bay.

“She is the Myriad Discord of Death,” the Gamma says as an explanation.

“Don’t know that one,” Amélie muses, and Luna smirks slyly.

“She has shadowed you for your whole life, watching over you.”

“Well that’s not stalker-like at all,” Amélie grumbles, but Hermione can tell there’s no bite in her words.

“You shine like a beacon in the abyss, terrifying and mortal, and it sings to Them.”

Amélie opens her mouth to question the Gamma more, but a soft knock at the bedroom door interrupts her.

“Luna? Can I come in?”

It’s Thalia, her voice low and hopeful. Amélie looks up at the door, and she feels Hermione press against her mental barrier. Deciding she would rather not speak with the strange Veela Alpha, she withdraws from Hermione, allowing her twin full control of her body again.

“Come in,” Hermione calls, and the door immediately opens. Alpha Thalia Carrow is dressed casually in a loose white shirt and black shorts, her wet hair wild and unstyled suggesting the Veela Alpha had just used a towel to dry it off.

“Hey—where’d Luna go?”

Hermione glances down, but the Gamma is gone, in her place lies a single black feather.

* * *

“Oh, she does that, disappearing randomly and leaving a feather, I’ve actually got a small collection going if you want to check it out later,” Thalia says into the silence, slowly walking towards Hermione. The Veela Alpha opens the closet and pulls out a stool, and she sets it next to the bed.

“So, um, I want to say I’m sorry, for rushing at you like that! I wasn’t thinking and I was so excited—I know that isn’t an excuse to throw us off the railing—but I had waited for so long for you! Then you just showed up out of no where saying you know me—I still can’t believe you know me—we have so much to catch up on! I—”

“Thalia, I only know because the Grey Lady told me about you,” Hermione cuts into the rushed rambling. Thalia blinks owlishly at her.

“W-what—but you said you knew me,” she stresses, and Hermione detects a note of desperation entering her voice.

_Tread carefully here,_

Amélie murmurs cautiously.

“I only know what Harold and Tracey told me about you, nothing more,” Hermione says gently, she and Amélie watching intently at the sudden look of defeat and bone-tired weariness settle over Thalia.

“B-but you asked if I remembered you!” Thalia’s hands jerk out towards Hermione’s, but she pulls herself back at the last second, shoving them under her thighs.

_Time to face the music,_

Amélie mumbles unhelpfully, and Hermione takes a breath.

“Do you recall where you were three summers ago?” She asks, and Thalia scrunches her brows together in deep thought.

“Three summers? Uh, I think I was hanging out with the girls?”

“You were in a forest,” Hermione prods, and the Veela Alpha’s eyes light up.

“That’s right! We—Nil, Pip, Reggie, and Jo—were hiking! It was awesome until Reggie cut her leg and . . . and how do you know that?”

Hermione meets Thalia’s searching gaze evenly, raising an eyebrow.

“What happened next?” She prods. Thalia eyes widen a little.

“Werewolves. I thought we were goners, but one saved us . . . it shifted . . . _you_ shifted back and saved us by nearly drowning us!” Thalia leaps to her feet, her exclamation followed by a loud knock on the doorframe.

“Sorry to interrupt you two, but Ms. Alecto has prepared breakfast,” Alpha Pippa Picquery says, her eyes trained squarely on Thalia’s tense form.

“Thank you Pippa, we’ll be down shortly,” Hermione replies, and the Alpha gives her a curious, yet puzzled glance.

“Try not to dawdle long, or the tea will get cold,” she says, leaving with a single backward glance at Thalia.

“Do you hate me?” Hermione asks as she gets out of bed, Thalia moving to the side to give her space. The Alpha fists clench, and she breaths in and out deeply, forcing herself to calm.

_I don’t think she likes Werewolves,_

Amélie states.

“No, it’s just, just, I,” Thalia sighs, and her body sags. She turns to face Hermione, her amber flecks in her dark-green eyes shining dully.

“I’m adopted, Alecto Carrow isn’t my birth mother.”

Hermione tilts her head.

“Okay?”

Thalia bites her lip.

“And . . . I know you’re adopted.”

Now Hermione narrows her eyes.

“How?” She demands. Amélie is strangely very silent. Thalia opens her mouth, and the dam opens.

“Before I was adopted at seven, I lived in the St. Elizabeth’s Diricawl Orphanage in Washington DC, where the nuns were strict—not to mention wicked fast with their _Stinging_ _Jinxes_ —but not overly cruel. Anyway, they kept files on all of us, and one night I snuck down to the Mother’s office and found mine,” Thalia takes another deep breath.

“My birth mother didn’t say who my birth father was, only that he was some American No-Maj. She was just traveling through, and didn’t have time to raise a kid. The file didn’t have her name, but it did have something called D.I.—Donor Insemination—basically that when I came of age, that I’d be privy to any information about her.”

“What did you find?” Hermione asks quietly. Thalia looks her in the eyes, hope flickering in them.

“My birth mother’s name is Alpha Jean Granger née Mendonica, and she was murdered by Werewolves.”

* * *

Hermione’s jaw drops to the floor, and Thalia grabs her hands.

“I found all the old No-Maj and Wizard newspapers about it! You were with one of your extended family members when a Werewolf appeared in the area—”

“I wasn’t with an extended family member,” Hermione says faintly, still in shock that she has a half-sister.

“Oh,” Thalia’s eyes widen, and she opens her mouth, but shuts it with a hard click.

“And I don’t think the Werewolf thing is accurate,” Hermione continues. While she might not remember how her parents died, she just _knows_ that it wasn’t because of a Werewolf.

“Er, okay . . . those papers are shit anyway, except for the fact they are how I found out that you existed. I always knew I had a half sibling—although not one with a twin stuck in them—and it was a huge shock to find out that you were competing in the I.Q.O.R.! However I never knew why you could, since you were born after me—”

“Dumbledore allowed me to use a Time-Turner,” Hermione stammers, looking at their joined hands.

“No fucking way! Are you serious?! That explains why you’re still in school! Dumbledore, Merlin rest his soul, always struck me as a little mad. Anyway, I immediately applied for the transfer program so I could meet you! But when I got there, you had disappeared, and no one knew where you went,” Thalia says in a rush, and Hermione blinks rapidly.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Hermione says, and Thalia gives her a wide, happy smile.

“That’s okay, I mean it’s not everyday that you find out that you have a half-sister,” the Alpha gently pulls Hermione into a tight hug, and Hermione slowly raises her arms to reciprocate it.

“How did you learn to fly?” Hermione blurts out the first thing that comes to her mind.

“Oh, er, I kinda watched birds fly around, and Soot sort of took it upon himself to teach me. I think I was thirteen the first time I actually flew,” Thalia says with a chuckle.

“How about you?”

Hermione rests her chin on her half-sister’s shoulder.

“Et—my adoptive mother—pushed me off a cliff when I was eight.”

Thalia’s body stiffens, and Hermione feels her force herself to relax.

“That sounds fucking awful,” the Alpha grips Hermione tighter in a protective way that surprises Hermione.

“It’s traditional. Most Veela learn that way.”

Hermione hears Thalia open her mouth to retort something, but Pippa calls for them to get downstairs. They pull apart, Hermione confused at the lingering anger in her half-sister’s eyes.

“Wanna meet my Mum? She’s pretty strict, but she’s got a heart of gold,” Thalia says, retaking Hermione’s hand to lead them out of the room. As the Alpha rambles nervously about her Mum, Hermione turns inward.

»Amélie?«

There’s a hint of hesitation before her twin answers.

_. . . Yes?_

»Did you know about Thalia?« Hermione asks bluntly, recalling one of Cobra’s more confusing memories.

 _»You’re going to meet_ her _mother.«_

_»Can I kill her?«_

_»No . . . Not yet. Vyvian still has to accomplish her task . . . Patience Présage, the Eternal Heart of Death is on your side,«_

_»Fate? There can only be one,_ dearest _, and it’s_ never _going to be_ you _.«_

That phrase, ‘There can only be one,’ Hermione remembers Eto uttering the exact same thing to Professor Carrow in a past vision.

_. . . Yes._

* * *

Hermione quietly sits at the breakfast table sipping her cold tea, mentally screaming that Amélie tell her any more secrets she has, but her twin is silent. Glaring at her tea, Hermione’s acutely aware of Professor Carrow’s hard, narrowed gaze, Pippa’s intensely searching one, Thalia’s overly clinginess, and Harold and Tracey’s awkward seat-shuffling.

“Where is Miss Lovegood?” Professor Carrow asks into the tense silence.

“Er, she’s out again,” Thalia says, and the Alpha woman just sighs.

“It’s not safe for her to be going out alone,” she mutters, and silence falls again.

“Miss Mendonica, what brings you here?” Professor Carrow asks, and all eyes settle on Hermione. She sets down her tea cup on its saucer, quickly evaluating the pros and cons of trusting the people at the table with her mission. In the end, she decides that it’s better if more people knew.

“I was hunting down a Horcrux.”

A pin could have been heard in the silence.

“A what?” Harold asks, and Tracey shrugs. Professor Carrow narrows her eyes suspiciously at Hermione.

“Thals, what is she talking about?” Pippa asks in a low, dangerous voice, making Thalia wince.

“Er, you remember when I told you about the ‘gift’ I got?” Thalia coughs out, and the other Alpha’s eyes widen.

“Miss Mendonica, do you care to explain what a Horcrux is? I find my memory lacking in that area,” Professor Carrow asks succinctly. Hermione chooses her words carefully.

“It’s a . . . vessel of severed souls.”

The wind picks up outside the kitchen windows.

“The caster splits their soul in half and puts it in a vessel, rendering the caster basically immortal. The only way the caster can be killed is if their Horcruxes are destroyed,” Hermione finishes, and there’s silence.

“So what I’m hearing is that you have been keeping a _dark object_ with part of _someone’s fucking soul_ underneath _our bed?!_ ” Pippa roars, slamming her hands on the table, and Thalia flinches towards Hermione.

“Pippa! Volume if you please!” Professor Carrow stands up swiftly, leveling a hard stare at her daughter.

“Alfā Thalia Spartan Carrow, is what Miss Mendonica says true?”

Thalia gulps at her mother’s cold tone of voice, but she nods. Hermione blinks at the knowledge that her half-sister is an Alfā like her.

“Yes Mum—but I didn’t know exactly what it was until ’Mione here explained it! I swear! I just knew it was dark and Helena wanted me to get rid of it!” She stammers, and Professor Carrow just closes her eyes and sighs. Meanwhile Hermione’s a little surprised that Thalia gave her a nickname already.

“I believe you, but we are destroying it this instant. How corruptive did you say it was?” The last part of the question is directed at Hermione, who shrugs.

“I have no idea, proximity perhaps? Or maybe it has to be worn,” Hermione muses.

“It’s moot point worrying about it right now. Thalia and Pippa, retrieve this Horcrux with _extreme_ care, and meet us in the Pit. The rest of you, follow me,” Professor Carrow orders, and Thalia, Pippa, and Hermione all chime a “Yes, Professor,” in reply. There’s a lull when everyone looks at Hermione, who sighs.

“I suppose I ought to come clean about this as well; I attended Castelobruxo undercover as Mia Mendonica to expose the rumored perpetrator drugging the students—”

“ _I knew it!_ You have the exact same voice!” Pippa shouts, jabbing an accusing finger at Hermione.

“Wait, you mean ‘Mia-the-broody-hot-Alpha-Mendonica’ is actually my half-sister _Hermione?_ ” Thalia turns to Pippa.

“Girls, Horcrux now,” Professor Carrow says, and Pippa drags Thalia upstairs. Hermione, Harold, and Tracey follow Professor Carrow outside, the Alpha woman eyeing Hermione in a new light.

“Half-sister?” Harold whispers questioningly as they round the medium size house. Thick forest surrounds them on all sides, and Hermione has a passing thought wondering where they are.

“From my birth mother,” she whispers back.

“You’re adopted?” Tracey asks, shocked.

“Blood-adoption,” Hermione replies, and she sees Professor Carrow glance back at her at that.

“Here, this should be a good place,” the Alpha woman says, stopping near a large, charred ditch in the ground.

“Good place for a bonfire,” Tracey comments, and Professor Carrow gives her a sly look.

“Something like that.”

Harold gulps, nudging Tracey and Hermione before pointing at a few remains of charred animal skeletons and carcasses.

“Ritual bonfire. That actually makes more sense,” Tracey mutters.

“The Pit is how my family and I repay the Black House Head for generously allowing us to live here,” Professor Carrow says simply, and Hermione glances at her. She didn’t know that Bellatrix and Professor Carrow were allies.

“Miss Mendonica, I would like to apologize for attacking you on that day,” Professor Carrow mutters so low under her breath that only Hermione’s Veela hearing can pick it up.

“It’s alright, your actions were justified,” Hermione whispers back.

“Still, without your intervention, who knows what all those children would have been used for,” the Alpha woman says, and Hermione stays silent. They wait for a few more minutes, the silence comfortable between Hermione and Professor Carrow, when Thalia and Pippa arrive with Ravenclaw’s Diadem floating between them.

“Lower it in the center of the Pit,” Professor Carrow instructs.

* * *

Thalia waves her hand—Hermione notes that her half-sister is also well adept at wandless and wordless magic—at the Horcrux. It plops down amongst the ash and mud of the Pit, and the woods around them seem to hush.

“I assume you have a way of destroying it?” The Alpha woman asks Hermione, who nods. Taking a deep breath, she raises her hands, her Cursed Fire bursting to life along her arms and her Thrall snaking around her shoulders.

Thalia and Pippa gasp at the sight, and everyone backs away from the simmering heat. Aiming her hands at the Horcrux, Hermione gathers all her energy, and strikes. The blast of the Horcrux’s screaming makes birds in a kilometer vicinity to take to the skies, their alarmed calls adding to the din.

Sweat drips down Hermione’s brow as she pushes more Cursed Fire at the Horcrux, the thing trying to spit its dangerous black smoke at her. Hermione can sense the sliver of soul in this Horcrux struggling against her, it’s strength surprising her.

Suddenly, another torrent of Cursed Fire joins hers, and Hermione snaps her head towards Thalia. The Veela Alfā’s face is tight with concentration, and she seems to be in the middle of transforming into her True-Veela form. Their Thralls instinctively reach out towards each other, empowering each other’s Cursed Fire.

Thalia takes a wobbling step forward to stand by Hermione’s side, now almost fully transformed. The Horcrux’s screeching reaches a crescendo, and just as Hermione thinks it’s done for, it releases a shockwave of raw, magical energy.

* * *

Hermione barely stands her ground, her hand gripping the nearest steady thing next to her. When that thing moves, Hermione realizes that Thalia is the one holding her upright, her half-sister also shielding an unconscious Pippa. The Horcrux shrieks out a cruel laugh, thick black smoke billowing from the Diadem.

A quick glance around her show that Harold, Tracey, and Professor Carrow are also out for the count.

_Mortal miscreants!_

The disembodied, demonic voice of Ouroboros hisses, thundering against their heads.

_You dare rise against me; a supreme being?!_

The smoke writhes, and it produces a slowly forming figure.

“ _You dare bite the hand of a God?_ ”

The figures stops just at the edge of the Pit, it’s form now almost complete, and it’s eye staring hungrily at Hermione and Thalia.

“Don’t talk to her!” Thalia shouts, punching a Cursed Fire ball at the Horcrux smoke, but the figure bats it away.

“ _That little ember doesn’t hold a candle to my Présage’s true Cursed Fire, although I shouldn’t expect much from a false Veela,_ ” Horcrux-Eto sneers, and she narrows her eye.

“ _Poor little Présage, so far from those who love you, from the Mate that rejected you, why don’t you come home? Mother misses you,_ ” Horcrux-Eto spreads her arms wide, and Hermione freezes, paralyzed by the voice of her adoptive mother.

“Shut up! I’ll show you false Veela!” Thalia takes a step forwards but suddenly she’s thrown back by the Horcrux’s smoke. The only reason she isn’t being killed is that her body burst on Cursed Fire, keeping the Horcrux at bay.

“ _My precious, wonderful daughter, why don’t you show yourself? Why do you hide behind this waste of flesh? I thought you wanted to live?_ ”

Hermione whips her head back towards the Horcrux-Eto, jerking back with a yelp. The Horcrux had crept on her, its face now centimeters from her own.

“ _Why did you have to be born with the healthy body? Why did you take my daughter from me?_ ”

A wall of sheer disappointment and hurt slams down on Hermione when she realizes the Horcrux-Eto hasn’t been talking to her at all. Distantly, she hears Thalia yelling at her, but it seems insignificant to her.

“ _You should be dead instead, you wretched, unworthy—_ ”

»Get the fuck away from my twin, you ugly motherfucker!«

Hermione throws herself to the side as Horcrux-Eto lets out a blood-curling death scream as a glaring-white comet of Cursed Fire lights up the forest.

* * *

Hermione groans as her body aches, and her ears gradually catch the stream of words being muttered next to her.

»—stupid, stupid bitch, of course you’d listen to the filthy, lying Horcrux—«

»Thank you, Amélie,« Hermione interrupts her twin’s angry ranting.

»Yeah yeah, you’d never be able to get anything done without me,« Amélie growls to herself.

»Is it dead?« Hermione asks, sitting up stiffly, the astral-projecting Amélie helping her.

»Well Hermione, I don’t really know if it’s dead, why don’t I throw another super Cursed Fire ball at it to see— _of course it’s fucking destroyed you dimwitted chicken!_ « Amélie snarks in an overly sarcastically tone. Hermione winces, preparing herself for a longer triad, but instead her twin places a hand on her shoulder.

»I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,« Amélie says softly.

»And?« Hermione raises an eyebrow, not above milking this apology for more. Amélie rolls her eyes, but continues.

»And I’m sort of sorry for not telling you about Carrow over there, although to be fair would you have wanted me to tell you that I wanted to kill her?«

»I suppose that’s as good as an apology I’ll ever get out of you,« Hermione hums, and she turns to look over at Thalia, who’s staring at them openmouthed.

»A-a-are you Amélie? How are you here?—I’m speaking without moving my mouth!« Thalia shrieks in Velian, and Amélie rolls her eyes again.

— . —

 _Aculeus_ = Stinging Jinx (Latin: Sting)


	20. Snake Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone are preparing for the final showdown!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also if my returning readers (and new readers) weren't aware, I finally got my DeviantArt account set up, and so I could post my fanart of this fic in my VOC Companion series!
> 
> The link is right here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580833

»So you’re telling me that you can only clearly hear and speak Velian when you’re in your True-Veela form?« Amélie asks dryly, a note of disbelief coloring her words.

»Er, yes, I guess, I don’t quite remember if I’ve spoken Velian before, although I do recall hearing vague whispers this morning when Hermione and I went downstairs, but I didn’t think much of it,” Thalia says rubbing the back of her neck. Pippa strokes the Veela Alpha’s arm comfortingly, and Thalia lets out a pleased purr-like rumble.

After the Horcrux had finally died, it hadn’t taken long for the others to wake up from their unconscious states, although it took quite a while to calm the furiously overprotective Professor Carrow. It was only the sudden appearance of Luna with a pot of steaming tea in her hands that eventually made the Alpha woman truly settle down.

The Gamma had led them back into the Carrow house, poured tea for all of them, and then promptly pushed Hermione onto the couch and sat on her. Pippa was likewise all over Thalia, first checking if she was unhurt, then punching her roughly for being reckless, and finally climbing the Veela Alpha to entangle their limbs together like the creeping vines.

Amélie makes a face at the obvious awkward flirting happening on the chair across from Hermione, Luna, and her.

“So . . . what happens now?” Harold asks into the easy silence.

“The Pit must be cleansed, but that can wait another day,” Professor Carrow says, setting down her teacup on its saucer with a sharp clink before standing up.

“In the meantime, no one leaves this house until I make sure none of the island’s wards were disturbed,” the Alpha woman says with a hard finality, her eyes lingering cautiously on Hermione and Amélie.

“Oh yeah, that’s Amélie, she’s Hermione’s twin sister who lives in Hermione’s mind,” Tracey says, and takes a sip of her tea. Professor Carrow’s jaw drops at that.

“It’s a long story,” Harold adds, and the Alpha woman just sighs, and leaves the house.

“A thousand year old tale, one that will take sixteen years to tell,” Luna says dreamily, wriggling more against Hermione in her snug spot in Hermione’s lap. Hermione notes that the Gamma is unusually warmer than she remembers, which is an insignificant thing to realize, but it’s making Luna smell slightly different.

Hermione tries to lean in a little closer to sniff discreetly at the Gamma’s hair, but from the droll side-eye from Amélie, she isn’t that discrete.

“Why sixteen?” Tracey muses, but Luna remains quiet, opting to continue delicately placing more strands of wild grass into her and Hermione’s tea. There’s a bit more silence as the sounds of the island fill the air, until it’s pierced by Thalia’s hiss of pain.

“Thals?” Pippa gasps, cupping Thalia’s slowly shifting face.

“I’m fine, Pip, I’m just stiff,” the Alpha says quickly, wincing as the last of her True-Veela form melts back into her normal one. The two share a heated look, and Amélie rolls her eyes.

»Why can’t they just screw each other already?« She grumbles to Hermione, who shrugs. Thalia glances at them curiously, but her attention is pulled back to Pippa.

»I think they still have some issues to figure out,« Hermione replies, inhaling sharply when Luna leans back against Hermione’s front, effectively shoving her hair in Hermione’s face. Involuntarily, she inhales, and with a jolt she pinpoints where she knows this scent.

»By Rozanica, are you actually going to fuck your _Seer?_ « Amélie scoffs, crossing her arms.

»No! Luna just smells different!« Hermione exclaims, wrenching her head away from Luna’s hair, but the Gamma tilts her head back, practically pressing herself flat against Hermione.

»So what? You should have more control over yourself,« Amélie snarks.

»I do have control—«

»Oh yeah? What about that time Daphne wore Omega pheromone perfume—which led to you having sex with my Mate!« Amélie sneers, and Hermione frowns at her. She knows this is just her twin’s jealous Veela instincts talking, but it’s still annoying.

»You can’t get mad at me for something we didn’t know about until recently, and she seduced me!«

»Well I can and I—«

“Erm, Lurch, do you want more tea?” Harold speaks up, his eyes darting from Amélie to Hermione.

“Yes, that would be great,” Hermione flashes the Beta a thankful smile at his intervention.

“I’ll come with you, Merlin knows I need to get up and move around,” Tracey says, placing down her tea cup and saucer and stretching. The pair walk into the kitchen, quietly chatting.

“The tea is in the left pantry,” Thalia says distractedly, her face now centimeters from Pippa’s, their eyes speaking a language only they know to each other.

“Miss Carrow, Miss Picquery,” Luna suddenly says, drawing the pair’s attention.

“I left you two a gift in your room,” the Gamma says with a dreamy smile. Pippa and Thalia glance at each other in confusion, before slowly detangling from each other.

“Thank you?” Pippa says with a tilt of her head. Luna grins widely, and gestures them to move along. Once they’re out of sight, the Gamma places their tea cups; which are stuffed to the brim with wild grass; down, leaps to her feet and pulls Hermione along with her.

“Come my Liege-Lady, I wish to introduce you to an old friend of yours,” Luna says airily, leading Hermione to the door.

“Didn’t Professor Carrow say not to leave?”

»What about me?«

Hermione and Amélie ask at the same time.

“Do you want to come?” Luna asks Amélie. Hermione can’t identify the strange emotion dancing in the Gamma’s swirling-silver eyes, but it makes Amélie backoff.

»Whatever,« she grumbles, staring with a shrewd stare as Luna leads Hermione out of the house and into the woods.

* * *

“Who’s this old friend?” Hermione asks after they’ve walked a bit away from the Carrow house. Luna starts humming her song, weaving between the trees and undergrowth with an agility that Hermione didn’t know the Gamma possessed.

“Where have you been going? Thalia said that you go often, leaving her feathers.”

Again, no answer, but Luna changes her tune, humming to a completely new song.

“Why are you here? With Thalia? How did you find her?”

“We were always destined to meet, she and I, just like you and I, we’re all cut from the same cloth,” Luna replies, and she leaves it at that. Hermione narrows her eyes at the Gamma, and she once again wonders what Luna knows.

“We’re here, my Liege-Lady,” the Gamma says brightly. Hermione takes a step forward, admiring the view. Luna’s led her to the edge of the island, where the dark, choppy sea churns against the white rock shore of Black Island. Movement in the corner of Hermione’s eye snaps her attention downwards, and she catches the tail of something darting into the shadow of a large rock outcrop.

Warily, Hermione half-hops-half-walks over to the outcrop, Luna trailing her the entire way. Crouching down, she peers under the outcrop, her eyes slowly adjusting to the deep shade of the mouth of a small cave. At first, she doesn’t spot anything, but then big, reflective eye receptors flash her way, and she gasps.

Luna jumps the short, but steep distance down to the damp sandy beach under the outcrop, and those big eyes squint the Gamma’s way. Luna bows low to the eyes, and they narrow to slits. Hermione drops down as well, cautiously following Luna’s lead.

A low hiss ripples out, and the eyes focus back on Hermione.

 _“IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME, SPEAKER-QUEEN-USURPER,_ ” the deep, hissing words ring around Hermione, coiling around her ears teasingly. Hermione gasps sharply, and she stands rooted as the eyes slither closer to the light, gradually revealing Himself. He stops a meter from Hermione, most of His large, strong new body still cast in shadow, but Hermione can still see Him.

“My Lord, I humbly present to You the Soul of the Fallen. My Liege-Lady, I present to you the Second of the Succulent Mouths of Death, the Mouth of Sexual Attraction and Procreation, Lord Eros.”

* * *

Neville walks through the quiet halls of Hogwarts checking off the long column of boxes on the parchment in his hands. Since the Death Eaters had displaced all the Professors except one, he was unofficially chosen to be the head manger making sure that Hogwarts is properly defended against the coming battle.

He remembers the raid conducted on the Chamber of Secrets, and the harrowing journey down the giant statue’s mouth. However, no Professors were found, nor any Basilisks. The only thing they discovered were the tattered remains of Death Eater cloaks and blood stains covering most of the main chamber.

His eyes fall on the roaming dot on the map that the Room of Requirement gave him. The map was almost exactly like Harry’s, except this one also had expandable name tags, including the Chamber of Secrets, and more detailed parts of the Forbidden Forest.

Neville watches the dot labeled “ _A.KD._ ” prowl around the Quidditch Pitch, and he sighs. Professor Duceau had turned up suddenly a few days after Hermione had left, looking and acting stark raving mad. She terrified the younger students, and it took half a dozen Werewolves to chase her out of the castle.

A distant howl sounds, and another closer to his position answers. He looks out a window, and spots two Werewolves switching out on guard duty. He watches for a bit longer, recognizing the signature dusty-colored fur of the Omega Werewolf, Leilaki Clearwind of Greyback.

It took quite some time for the students of Hogwarts to get accustomed to the presence of the Werewolf pack, and even more so for the students to accept that the King of Gryffindor is now a Werewolf as well. Although for Neville, it wasn’t hard to adjust, although he still holds some reservations about Ginny’s and Leilaki’s relationship.

However he can definitely see that they love each other deeply, so he won’t pester Ginny with too many questions. Looking back up, he tracks Leilaki’s path towards the entrance of Covered Bridge; on the side opening up to the Forbidden Forest; where the main part of the Werewolf pack is settled.

Neville stops by a secret entrance, and checks off another box when he sees a Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes object plugging the entrance. The twins had come back to Hogwarts armed with a never seen before line of prank toys with highly lethal consequences.

Carefully stepping around the secret entrance, Neville walks through the castle to the Astronomy Tower, looking over to the Greenhouses. There, he spots the small figures of Alpha Susan Bones and her handpicked team carrying out dangerous plants to—pun intended—plant them in the less defensible parts of Hogwarts.

A loud shout reaches Neville’s ears, and he swings around to look at the Viaduct, his eyes widening when he sees Alphas Seamus Finnigan and Lee Jordan lower a huge, writhing Devil’s Snare into the ravine under the Viaduct.

A whoosh of brooms zipping through the air above Neville startles him, and the map slips through his grasp.

“No!” He lunges for it, but the map flies out of his reach and higher with the air currents. Fear flashes coldly through him, but thankfully it’s short lived.

“Did you drop this?” Beta Vincent Crabbe asks, flying closer to Neville with his map clutched in the beefy Beater’s fingers.

“Yes, thank you,” Neville hurriedly clutches the map close to him, and the Beta smiles happily.

“Alright, say, did you see where Greg went? We’re supposed to be burying these flashbangs,” he gestures to his stuffed satchel strapped to his back.

“Er, that way I think?” Neville points toward Hagrid’s Hut.

“Thanks mate!” Vincent zooms away with a backwards wave.

“Make sure you tell the Centaurs!” Neville yells after the Slytherin. Somehow, Omega Tracey Davis had convinced the Centaurs and the Merfolk to side with them in case Hogwarts was attacked. Most of the Hogwarts royalty wanted to make this alliance permeant, but Tracey suddenly took off with Harold a week after Professor Duceau appeared.

Neville tries not to think about the rumor that the pair went off to help Hermione find Alfā Thalia Carrow. Regret fills him that he didn’t tell one of his closest friends that the girl she’s searching for is her half-sister.

“Little Lion.”

Neville shrieks and whirls around, his heart pounding as he stares up at the Bloody Baron.

“Yes?” He squeaks, struggling to calm his racing heart. He tries to remind himself that the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady are the reason that most students can sleep soundly at night, as they’ve rallied the other Ghosts to guard each and every entrance of Hogwarts. The Ghost gives him an unimpressed look.

“Make haste to the Bell Towers,” he says in his deep, creepy voice.

“What?” Neville asks in a high voice, and the Ghost frowns.

“Now!”

Neville sprints away at the Bloody Barons’ shout, running full tilt toward the Bell Towers. Five, sweaty minutes later, he’s climbing up the last staircase step, his head immediately on a swivel. Suddenly, he hears a panicked shout, and he scrambles to the railing of the scaffold.

Peering down, Neville’s gasp alerts his presence to the “intruders”.

“Neville! Thank Merlin! The Grey Lady’s gone mad!” Beta Daphne Greengrass shouts up to him, nearly falling off her own scaffold dodging a swipe from said vexed Ghost.

“Stop moving, intruder,” the Grey Lady growls.

“We’re not intruders! We go here!” Another familiar voice sounds from a level below Daphne.

“Astoria?!” Neville yells.

“Take that Peeves!” Alpha Astoria Greengrass shouts, and a brilliant white light flaresup and fills the Bell Towers blindingly. The Grey Lady yowls, and Neville feels her fly away from the light. Blinking away black spots, Neville stares as the relieved Daphne helps her sister climb back onto her scaffold.

However when he sees what Astoria’s carrying, his eyes go wide with shock. The baby strapped to the Alpha’s chest peers up at him with glowing heterochromia eyes, and smiles.

* * *

“You’re one of them,” Hermione murmurs, and Eros smirks. He slithers fully into the light, stretching in the warmth. He’s transformed from His previous form of a regular Black Mamba, to a large Naga version.

 _“THAT I AM, ALTHOUGH I WILL ADMIT I AM NO AS WELL KNOWN AS MOST OF MY BRETHREN,_ ” Eros hisses.

“But, how? You died . . .” Hermione trails off, and He shrugs.

“ _I MERELY SHED MY MORTAL FORM. I NEVER KNEW THAT I’D BE SUMMONED BY A MEASLY SPELL AND BONDED TO YOU,_ ” Eros replies nonchalantly, and His gaze turns to Luna.

 _“ARE YOU READY, SEER?_ ”

The Gamma bows low and deferentially.

“I am, my Lord,” she replies.

 _“AND ARE YOU, SPEAKER-QUEEN-USURPER, READY?_ ” Eros asks, stretching out His taloned hand toward Hermione. She tilts her head in confusion.

“Ready for what?”

At this Eros’ lips stretch back in a mischievous, snake-like smirk.

“ _TO MATE, MY DEAR, TO TASTE FLESH IN A WARM COITUS EMBRACE WITH THE SEER._ ”

Hermione snaps her head towards the still bowed Luna, shock coloring her features.

“It must be done, my Liege-Lady, for if we do not, you will simply cease to exist,” Luna says dreamily, still facing the ground.

“There’s nothing simple about that!” Hermione exclaims, and Eros sends her an amused look.

“ _YOU’VE CHANGED, PERHAPS FOR THE BETTER I THINK, HOWEVER THE SEER IS CORRECT AS USUAL, AND I FOR ONE WOULD BE AMISS IF YOUR SOUL WAS EXTINGUISHED,_ ” the God hisses. Hermione switches her gaze back and forth between Luna and Eros, uncertainty fluttering in her head.

“Think back, my Liege-Lady, think of how you healed from your broken bond,” Luna’s words seem to have a pleading note to them. Hermione purses her lips, and she casts her mind back.

“The Other,” she breathes, and Eros hisses His mirth wordlessly.

 _“OH AREN’T YOU RATHER DEVIOUS,_ ” He crackles, and he rakes his talons through Luna’s hair, scraping her scalp.

“ _I GIFT YOU THIS FAVOR, SEER, USE IT WELL, AND REMEMBER,_ ” Eros hisses, raw, Olde Magick pulsating around his entire body. Hermione flinches at its biting strength.

“ _YOU OWE ME._ ”

With that, Eros vanishes in a flash of light and a mocking laugh, leaving Luna curled up on the floor.

“Luna!” Hermione drops down to the Gamma’s side, hands reaching out, but that’s when the scent hits her. She freezes, trying to hold her breath, but she’s already inhaled a lungful of heady, full blown Omega heat pheromones.

“L-Luna?” Hermione grunts, struggling—and failing—to take her eyes off the Gamma—Omega? Her own body is already responding to the pheromones. Luna pushes herself to her elbows slowly, panting heavily.

“Please, Hermione.”

Hermione blinks in shock upon hearing her name tumble from Luna’s shaky lips.

“Y-you’ll die of a r-rottened heart, you w-won’t survive it,” the newly turned Omega pants, sweat gathering at her brow. Hermione instinctually pulls Luna close to her, both of them gasping when their bodies are pressed flush against each other.

“The Other . . . Is she . . .You know . . .” Hermione whispers, stroking the Omega’s shuddering frame and scenting her hair.

“ _Yes_ ,” Luna whines, and she yanks Hermione down for a kiss.

* * *

Amélie spends her time waiting for Hermione and Luna to show up drinking tea with Alecto, reading with Harold, and pretending to listen to Thalia’s wild stories of her childhood. After the first day of her twin’s and Luna’s disappearance, all the occupants of the Carrow household were deeply concerned about their whereabouts.

»They’re just fucking,« she had told Thalia; who had shifted into her True-Veela form to hear her. Now, a week and a half later, Yule is starting, and Amélie was getting very tired of waiting.

»—and then, _BAM!_ This girl came out of nowhere and ran me over! We nearly fell off the main staircase in the Lobby!« Thalia laughs, gesturing widely with her hands.

»Lobby?« Amélie yawns, flipping a page in her book, Small Gods by a Muggle named Terry Pratchett. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to her, mainly because she was starting out reading the thirteenth novel in the series.

»Yeah, the Lobby of the MACUSA? I was telling you how Pip and I met,« Thalia says, and Amélie hums. Thalia shifts awkwardly, pursing her lips and shuffling her wings.

»Spit it out,« Amélie sighs, shutting her book and placing it on her bedside table.

»Do you know anything about our birth mother?«

Amélie glances over at the Veela Alfā, who’s brimming with pent up excitement and trepidation.

»Before I tell you that, let me ask you a question: how old do you think Hermione and I were when we were adopted?« Amélie asks, and Thalia thinks about it.

»Um, I don’t know, maybe between age one or two?«

»We were seven,« Amélie states bluntly, and the Veela Alfā’s jaw drops.

»W-what?«

»Of course Jean favored Hermione, but due to our certain circumstances, it was to be expected,« Amélie says nonchalantly. Thalia opens her mouth to speak, but suddenly, they both feel a ripple of magic pulse around them.

Hovering a half a meter away from Amélie, is a small ring, bobbing up and down in the air.

»What the heck?« Thalia mutters, and Amélie’s breath hitches when she recognizes the jewelry. Plucking the ring out of the air, she feels a familiar presence brush against her cheek, a chuckling hiss sounding in her ear.

»What is it?« Thalia asks, her eyes locked on the ring intently. Amélie holds up the ring to the window, the symbol of the Death Hallows etched on the cube stone piece of the ring glinting ominously.

»An unexpected gift,« Amélie replies, and she hears the door to the house open. Hermione and Luna are back.

* * *

Meissa clutches to Tyche tightly, the Horned Serpent licking her comfortingly. All around her are loud noises, more sounds than she’s ever heard before. There’s so many unfamiliar faces, all wanting to get a look at her, and she stares each and every one of them down.

Warm hands pick her up, and Meissa smells Astoria’s thick, wolfish scent.

“What are you doing on the floor, Mei? Come on, there’s some people that would like to meet you,” the Maledictus Alpha says excitedly, and Meissa holds Tyche tighter.

‡ _It’sss alright, Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother] grew up here,_ ‡ the Horned Serpent hisses.

“—I know it’s . . . weird to say the least, but it has to be done.”

Meissa sees Daphne, and she reaches out for the Beta.

‡ _Sssoursss-Sssoxxx-Sssriensss! [Court-Fox-Friend!]_ ‡ She hisses, and Daphne turns around at her call, and Astoria passes Meissa and Tyche into the Beta’s arms.

“What you’re asking us is astronomically dangerous, what if she can’t control it?” Afemale Alpha says tersely. Meissa scans the rest of the assembled group, but her eyes are drawn to the large stained glass window where a single Raven is perched. She smiles at Howl-Howl.

“Well, if what Daphne says is true, then I’d wager that any kid of Hermione’s can manage a Basilisk,” a female Werewolf Alpha replies, and Meissa sniffs in her direction.

‡ _That’sss Ginerva, and that’sss her Mate over there, you met their Alfā,_ ‡ Tyche hisses in her ear.

“Is no one going to point out the fact that Hermione never killed the thing to begin with?” A female Beta asks.

‡ _Greyback! I like her!_ ‡ Meissa hisses, and she tilts her head back and howls. All noise pauses, and the few Werewolves in the Great Hall turn to her, a few giving short calls back. The Omega Werewolf, Leilaki, jogs over, and she smiles down at Meissa.

#Hey there Pup, how have you been?# She barks. Meissa glances at her, noting the similarities between her and Alfā Tarow.

‡ _Bored! I want Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss! [Brood-Queen-Mother!]_ ‡ Meissa hisses petulantly.

“She does speak English, right?” Someone asks, but Meissa doesn’t pay attention.

#I’m sorry Pup, but I haven’t heard from her in a while,# Leilaki woofs, and Meissa pouts.

‡ _I want Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother] now,_ ‡ she grumbles, and Tyche rubs her cheek against Meissa’s.

‡ _Fret not, Little Adder, Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother] will turn up jussst when we need her._ ‡

“—why did you even bother coming back now?” A male Omega asks cautiously. Meissa glances at him, and she can see how everyone in their group subtly defers to him. So she decides to pay more attention to the male Omega.

“Well, I was taking care of Meissa here, but then I got a letter from Luna telling me to haul ass to Hogwarts,” Daphne says, and the male Omega narrows his eyes.

“Do you still have it?”

“Of course, I couldn’t leave it lying around,” the Beta replies, reaching into her pocket and handing the folded parchment over to him. The male Omega scans the contents, and then with a sigh, he folds it.

“Alright, I’ll escort you down to the Chamber, but brace yourself, it’s changed for the worse since we last went down there,” he warns, and Daphne smiles, relieved.

“Thanks Neville.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. In the meantime, Astoria, you should go over to Pansy and see if she needs anything done. Parvati, can you take over my checklist? And for the rest of you, if we’re not back in twenty minutes, _carefully_ , send a search party with some Werewolves after us, okay?”

A chorus of agreement rises up, and then Neville is leading Daphne out of the Great Hall and to the Chamber.

‡ _Tell them to link handsss, and I ssshall Sssslither-Sssyasssasssion usss to Asssccclepiusss,_ ‡ Tyche hisses.

“Stop!” Meissa suddenly shouts, making Daphne and Neville jump.

“What’s wrong Mei?” Daphne frets, and stops walking. Neville shuffles close, worry etched in his eyes.

“Hands!” Meissa gestures between Neville’s and Daphne’s hands.

“You want us to hold hands . . . Oh Merlin not again, fine,” Daphne groans, and she takes the male Omega’s hand.

“What—ah!” Neville starts to say, but he ends up dry heaving as Tyche Slither-Syasasions them directly into the main chamber of the Chamber of Secrets. Meissa giggles at the queasy faces that Daphne and Neville make.

‡ _Sssueensss-Sssroosss-Sssirasss-Sssroosssesss! [Queen-Brood-Mother-Brother!]_ ‡ Tyche hisses loudly into the calm silence, and Meissa hears a low rumble of something large stirring.

‡ _. . . Isss that you, Sssueensss-Sssroosss-Sssanasss [Queen-Brood-Daughter] Tyche? . . . I sssmell another hatchling . . ._ ‡

Meissa shivers at the ancient, raspy quality of the Basilisk’s hiss.

“Remember, don’t open your eyes and keep looking down!” Daphne tells Neville nervously, and the male Omega nods.

“I remember.”

The sounds of slithering grows louder, and then Meissa sees the beginning of a large head protruding from the mouth of a large statue. Ascelpius slowly pulls slithers into the main chamber, and while his lethal eyes closed, his nostrils flare, taking in their scents. Meissa wriggles, and Daphne places her down.

‡ _I sssmell you, Sssueensss-Sssroosss-Sssanasss [Queen-Brood-Daughter] . . . I am Sssersssonal-Sssionasss-Sssasssvisssor [Personal-Council-Advisor] Asssccclepiusss, named by Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper [Speaker-Queen-Usurper] herssself, what might I call you?_ ‡ The Basilisk hisses, his tongue flicking out and licking Meissa’s face.

‡ _Alpha Meisssssa Assstra Bellatrixxx Black!_ ‡ Meissa hisses brightly, and Ascelpius smiles.

‡ _Well then Sssueensss-Sssroosss-Sssanasss [Queen-Brood-Daughter] Meisssssa, it isss an honor to meet you,_ ‡ the Basilisk boops his nose against Meissa’s, making her giggle with delight.

‡ _Sssueensss-Sssroosss-Sssirasss-Sssroosssesss [Queen-Brood-Mother-Brother],_ ‡ Tyche hisses solemnly, and Ascelpius tilts his head her way.

‡ _It’sss time. Our Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper [Speaker-Queen-Usurper] hasss need of usss, but more importantly, the Sssoul of the Fallen needsss usss,_ ‡ Tyche hisses mysteriously, and the Basilisk nods gravely.

‡ _I figured you had ssstarted to Awaken, but I wasss not sssure when exxxactly._ ‡

‡ _Awaken?_ ‡ Meissa hisses, confused. Ascelpius and Tyche smile down at her.

‡ _Yesss, Little Adder. The Eternal Heart of Death bade me to be reborn in a mortal body onccce again, and I obeyed,_ ‡ Tyche hisses gently.

‡ _Asss did I, however, by the time I had Awoken, I wasss already bound to the Mad Sssueensss,_ ‡ the Basilisk adds. Meissa blinks at the two serpents, trying to figure out who the new names belong to. Howl-Howl suddenly appears above them, circling lazily.

*Fate my dear chick! The Parcae of the Thread of Life! The Spinner! The Measurer! The Cutter!* He warble-caws.

“Is that a bird?” Neville mutters.

“I don’t know,” Daphne replies.

*Awoken! Third of the Myriad Discord of Death and the Second of the Nimble Sinew of Death! Joined! The Discord of Luck with the Sinew of Rebirth! Merged!* Howl-Howl howls.

‡ _Will you help usss Merge, Sssueensss-Sssroosss-Sssanasss [Queen-Brood-Daughter] Meisssssa?_ ‡ Ascelpius hisses, and she nods.

‡ _Yesss!_ ‡

‡ _Then hold out your handsss,_ ‡ Tyche instructs, and Meissa does so. Howl-Howl swoops down, landing on Meissa’s shoulder, and the instant his talons touch her both their eyes glow white. The Basilisk and the Horned Serpent’s bodies start to glow as well, and Meissa gasps as foreign magic flows into her from high above, using her as an amplifier.

Her mouth opens, and unintelligible words spill from her lips, burning her tongue and ringing like a million chimes in her ears. Daphne and Neville crumble to the floor, their minds unable to listen to the sounds Meissa’s making. Ascelpius and Tyche lean to each other, and in an implosion of black light, they become one.


	21. Cue The Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Hogwarts is here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I swear it's only one more chapter left, I'm not going to keep pushing it any further!
> 
> Also, I think maybe in a few months when I look back on this and decide that it's terrible, I'll probably make a VOC (Revamp) version in one whole file ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_She slithers along the charred lines of the giant runic circle, her gaze trained on the glossy stone floor. It’s shine is so clear and unnatural that she can see the faint outlines of the floating crystals above her. Hermione senses that Nagini quite enjoys the quietness, and the reprieve from Ouroboros’ presence. Hermione peers deeper into the snake’s mind, assessing the half completed Familiar bond._

_Nagini shivers when Hermione reaches out with mental fingers to poke at the tangled mess that Ouroboros made, and the snake rises up, looking around._

_‡_ Who isss there? _‡ She hisses, her tongue flicking out to taste the air. Hermione stills, drawing away from the Familiar bond, and Nagini relaxes. Hermione edges closer again, this time more cautiously. Upon inspecting the thick, red and black web of magic coating everything, she gasps when she realizes what it is._

_‡_ Nagini! _‡_

_Both Hermione and Nagini flinch at Ouroboros’ smug shout._

_‡_ Yesss? _‡ The snake hisses, watching Ouroboros stride into the room._

_‡_ Fetch Ssseverusss, my dear, he’s been avoiding my summons, _‡ he hisses, raising his hands to make smooth circling movements. One of the empty crystals lowers to him, shimmering brightly. Nagini’s tail twitches in annoyance at the flippant order. Sticking out her tongue at him, and not in a regular snake way, Nagini Slither-Syasasions directly in front of Professor Snape. The Beta man leaps to his feet in an instant, his wand aimed directly between her eyes._

_Nagini rises up from her spot on his desk, staring Professor Snape down. From what Hermione can see, they’re in a homey office, light filtering in through half-closed curtains. However, the wedding photo of Professor Snape and one Alpha Lily Evans—now Snape—stands out the most._

_“Sev, where’d you put the sugar again? Did you use it in your potions—” Lily cuts herself off short upon entering the office, and Nagini tenses._

_“I haven’t returned for a reason,_ Tom _,” Professor Snape growls. Nagini merely flicks out her tongue slowly, her eyes still locked on his wand. Hermione senses the snake’s hesitation, and she seizes that opportunity to launch a volley of attacks on the red part of the web inside Nagini’s mind._

_The snake rears back in surprise, pain, and fear. Professor Snape shoots a curse at the writhing snake, but he misses, and Nagini crashes to the floor, twisting and wriggling uncontrollably._

_“Lily! Move!” Professor Snape roars, trying to get a good shot at Nagini’s thrashing head._

_“Wait—look!” Lily points, and Professor Snape pauses. Hermione continues to tear and bite at the red magic, ripping it slowly but surely, and Nagini’s body begins to change. Agonizingly for the snake, her body expands and shortens in length, compacting into a sturdier, harder frame. In minutes, a dirty, Asian woman lies in place of where the snake was, gasping deeply for air._

_“Merlin’s saggy left nut, she’s an Animagus,” Lily gasps, but Professor Snape narrows his eyes, and levels his wand again at Nagini._

_“No, not Animagus,” he murmurs, crouching down and using his wand to tilt Nagini’s head up._

_“Maledictus.”_

_There’s an uneasy silence as Nagini and Professor Snape stare at each other, the Beta man searching for a way into her mind. However, Nagini doesn’t let him get past her, and Professor Snape withdraws._

_“What does Tom want?” He demands instead, and Nagini swallows, opening and closing her mouth. Hermione can tell the Maledictus is struggling to remember how to speak with human vocal cords._

_“Ritual . . . Great . . . Blood . . . Magic . . . Crystals,” she rasps, her voice scratchy and hoarse. Lily wordlessly conjures a glass of water, and offers it to Nagini. She slowly reaches for it, taking the cup in clumsy fingers._

_“Thanks,” she murmurs, slowly drinking._

_“No problem,” Lily replies, sitting down close to Nagini. Professor Snape gives her an antagonized glance, but he too begrudgingly sits down._

_“How and why did you shift back now?” He drawls coldly, and Nagini sets down her empty glass._

_“Presence in . . . My mind . . . Not him,” Nagini whispers, and Hermione stirs. Does she want others to know that she can see through a snake’s eyes? Or does it matter?_

_“Do you know who?” Lily asks gently, and Nagini slowly nods._

_“Sueens . . . Speaker-Sueens-Usurper . . . Her . . . She is . . . New,” Nagini replies, not noticing Professor Snape’s and Lily’s confused looks._

_“‘Sueens’ means ‘Queen’, so do you know the name of this Parseltongue Queen?” Professor Snape questions, and Nagini shrugs._

_“She is . . . Sueens . . . But . . . I hear . . . She is . . . Sroos-Siras with . . . No Sonsort . . . Only Sersonal-Sionas-Sasvisor.”_

_Lily refills Nagini’s cup, and the Maledictus drinks from it greedily._

_“Do you know any of the terms she just said?” Lily whispers to Professor Snape, whose staring thoughtfully at Nagini._

_“I only know that ‘Sonsort’ means ‘Consort’. Tell me, when did this new Queen appear?” He asks._

_“Many moons . . . Ago . . . Years . . . Five?” Nagini frowns to herself, but Professor Snape closes his eyes, sighing._

_“The Heir of Slytherin mess, of course, I know who the Queen is,” he stands stiffly, helping Nagini to her feet._

_“You do?” Lily asks, standing as well._

_“Yes, and I am correct in assuming she is still with us?” He stares into Nagini’s eyes, and Hermione smiles at her House Head._

_“Yes . . . She freed . . . Me,” Nagini says, and the Beta woman clutches onto Professor Snape’s steadying arm._

_“Let me make this quick then, Miss Mendonica, wherever you are, Tom is mobilizing for something big, and I suspect he might attack Hogwarts as a demonstration of his return. Fortunately, from what I’ve heard from Aberforth, the Hogwarts royalty are spearheading the charge to defend themselves,” he says._

_“Severus . . . He wants . . . To—” Nagini starts to say._

_“—I know, that’s why you’re going to take Igor in my place,”_ _Professor Snape says, turning and flicking his wand at his fireplace. The Floo flares green, and a disheveled Alpha man flops out of it, bound and gagged._

_“Sev! How long was he in there!” Lily cries, taking a step toward Alpha Igor Karkaroff, but Professor Snape stops her._

_“Only for a week or so, he had the audacity to come crawling to me for sanctuary, after I explicitly told him to stay away from me,” Professor Snape hands Nagini off to Lily, and plucks a vial of dark-green liquid from his robes. Uncorking it, he ungags the half-dead Alpha, and forces him to drink all of it. Igor’s body shakes and bubbles, and in seconds, he’s turned into Professor Snape._

_“_ Imperio _,” Professor Snape drawls at Snape-Igor, and he unties him, cleaning the glazed looking Alpha with a few spells. The Beta man casts a few more spells, and soon Snape-Igor is wearing the same clothes as the real Professor Snape._

_“There, you can take him back with you, and then come straight back here, do you understand?” Professor Snape orders, and Nagini nods._

_“Yes.”_

_“Wait a minute! What about you? What will happen if he figures out it’s not Sev? What if you can’t return?” Lily asks urgently, but Nagini smiles at her._

_“He can . . . Not kill . . . Me,” she says confidently, and Lily gives her a dubious look. Hermione feels a tug on Nagini’s Familiar bond, and a second later Nagini does too._

_“Must go . . . Take care,” she says, and shifts back into her snake form. Coiling up the Snape-Igor, Nagini waves her tail to Professor Snape and Lily before Slither-Syasasions back to Ouroboros._

* * *

Hermione jerks awake to Thalia slamming open her bedroom door, a ridiculous party hat strapped on top of her head.

“Come on ’Mione! It’s New Year’s Eve! Mum’s going to be setting off fireworks!”

“Thals, it’s eight in the morning,” Hermione grumbles, rolling over and pulling her covers high. Luna snuggles closer to her, and Hermione wraps her arms around the Gamma. Luna’s Omega presentation had apparently been a temporary thing.

“Yeah, but that just means we can party longer! Come on, Ali’s already up!” Thalia explains excitedly.

“Amélie doesn’t need to sleep when she’s astral projecting,” Hermione mumbles, but she allows her half-sister to bustle around her, pulling her towards the closet.

“You too Luna! Up and ’attem!”

Thalia grabs the first shirt she sees and throws it at Hermione.

“The comforts of the sheets give a more compelling argument than your scorching aura,” Luna yawns dreamily, clutching Hermione’s pillow and burrowing her face into it.

“Fine, fine, you can come down later,” Thalia waves the Gamma off, and Luna rolls over, throwing the duvet over her head.

“Why aren’t you going to pester her?” Hermione asks curiously, pulling on the shirt and searching for a pair of shorts.

“Well, it’s sorta hard to get someone to come with you when they suddenly disappear into thin air, oh hey, Harold and Tracey want to talk to you about something.”

* * *

Amélie throws something at Hermione the instant she walks into the family room. Catching it easily, Hermione inspects the item, turning over the ring in her hand.

»The Resurrection Stone. I summoned Kreacher, and he told me that everyone—and I do mean _every single person_ in Grimmauld Place—have left for Hogwarts, and they’ve blocked any House-Elf who isn’t Howarts registered,« Amélie says gravely.

“Harry’s Patronus just came by, you missed it,” Harold says, walking to Hermione from the kitchen.

“The Hogwarts Royalty are preparing Hogwarts for the upcoming siege from Death Eaters,” Tracey says, following right behind Harold.

“Siege? What siege?” Pippa asks from the couch. Thalia walks over to her, plopping down by her side.

“Harry and the others have great reason to believe that the Death Eaters are going to target Hogwarts as a message to the rest of the world,” Harold starts.

“It makes the most logical sense, war-wise that is, hit a learning institution where they can influence the next generations, and the fact that they lost Hogwarts is probably a big motivator to reclaim their hold over it,” Tracey adds.

“That may be true, but wouldn’t it be too obvious?”

Hermione turns to see Professor Carrow leaning against the family room doorframe.

“When do the Hogwarts Royalty think the Death Eaters are going to attack?” Pippa asks.

“Soon, there has been news of increased attacks in the Muggles of Britain from members of the Order of the Phoenix, but other than that, they simply have to wait,” Tracey replies. Amélie gives Hermione a searching look, and she raises an eyebrow.

»Ouroboros is personally going to go after Snape; he was already planning on killing him for his ritual, and now that Snape has his Horcrux-Familiar . . .« Amélie trails off, and Hermione nods. It’ll be the best time to kill Ouroboros once and for all.

“Wait, what is she saying?” Thalia asks, leaning forward.

»What are the odds that Professor Snape will go to Hogwarts?« Hermione asks, and Amélie nods her head towards the Wizard Chess Set box lying on a cabinet shelf next to the fireplace mantle.

»Not likely,« Amélie replies.

»Luna referenced Wizard Chess; Nagini the ‘King’ piece to Ouroboros’ ‘Queen’ piece. She’s the most important thing to him, and I wager that Snape knows that. He wouldn’t take her to Hogwarts and risk bringing Ouroboros’ wrath down on the school, and besides, Luna basically confirmed that the attack on Hogwarts will just be a diversion,« Hermione’s twin sums up.

»We need to find Harry’s Invisibility Cloak,« Hermione says to Amélie.

»And then we find Snape,« her twin drawls.

“Hermione, what aren’t you telling us?” Harold asks.

“We need to go to Hogwarts, they will need all the help they can get,” Hermione says, and the atmosphere turns grim.

“Hogwarts is the most dangerous place to be right now,” Professor Carrow says tightly.

“Mum, we have to help—” Thalia starts, but the Alpha woman holds up her hand.

“I never said we couldn’t, only that it will be exceedingly paramount that everyone stays extremely cautious.”

“You’re letting us go?” Hermione asks, and Professor Carrow gives her and Amélie side glances.

“While I can’t tell you all what to do since everyone here is of age, I will be accompanying you to make sure everyone stays safe—”

“Thanks Mum! I promise I’ll be careful!” Thalia leaps across the room, wrapping herself around her mother. Professor Carrow pats her daughter’s back calmly.

“Wait—I thought you can’t set foot in Britain!

“I’m banished from the Carrow family, not an England _persona non grata_ , I can go back if I want,” Professor Carrow states calmly.

* * *

Daphne finds herself babysitting the newly merged “Tychpius” more often than anyone in the castle. She also—to her disgruntlement—finds herself lacking the company of Meissa just as often. When she, Neville, and Meissa resurfaced from the Chamber of Secrets, Alpha Bellatrix Black and everyone from Grimmauld Place were waiting for them in the Great Hall.

The Head Black promptly snatched her child away from Daphne, and has actively kept the two away from each other. Daphne sighs, and Tychpius licks her cheek with their large tongue. She gets it, she _did_ kidnap Bellatrix’s only daughter. Tychpius bumps her gently, pointing their nose up to the Chamber ceiling.

“Is is time for your twilight ‘walk’ already?” Daphne asks, and Tychpius nods, staring at her impatiently. Since the two serpents had merged, they could control the Basilisk side effect of killing with their eyes. They also looked like a huge Horned Serpent with a ton more back head spikes that rattled against each other like a wind chimes when Tychpius moved.

In addition to the new look, a makeshift saddle rests between—and tied to—the giant serpent’s two main horns, right in front of where the rest of the head spikes protrude from and where the forehead gem rests. A thick, somewhat loose strap attached to the saddle sides and under Tychpius’ throat provides a dual purpose of being “stirrups” and an easy way to climb into the saddle.

Daphne hauls herself into the saddle when Tychpius lowers their head, and she wraps the safety belt around her waist that’s hooked to the back of the saddle. Wrapping her hands around the two spokes at the front of the saddle, Tychpius Slither-Syasasions into the Black Lake.

* * *

It always never ceased to startle her when she traveled like that, and even more that she reappears deep underwater. Daphne’s first instinct is to hold her breath, but she feels the cool, yet familiar sensation of blissful oxygen flowing around her body. Glancing down, she sees that right in front of the saddle, Tychpius’ forehead gem is pulsing white, air shimmering around the giant serpent’s head.

The serpent starts swimming, darting through the dark, open waters. The Black Lake is the only part of campus that Tychpius can freely stretch out to their full, massive length without fear of injuring or scaring anyone. The added bonus is that any enemy scouts have no idea that Tychpius even exists.

They pass by a few frightened Merfolk, Daphne barely catching a glimpse of their sparkling tails before they dart away into the murky depths of the Lake. Time seems to stand still and stretch at the same time when Daphne’s riding Tychpius like this, but after what feels like an hour, Tychpius suddenly jerks his head to the surface.

“What is it?” Daphne asks, but the giant serpent suddenly surges upwards, giving Daphne whiplash in her back.

“Slow down!” She screams, holding on for dear life.

Tychpius ignores her, and in seconds, they’re flying high into the sky, a huge wave of water accompanying them. Daphne stomach drops as they start to fall, a silent scream leaving her. Clenching her eyes shut tight, she braces for the jarring impact of the ground, the anticipation nearly giving her a heart attack, but nothing happens.

Tychpius lets out a chortling hiss, and Daphne peeks one open a sliver, then she snaps her eyes open fully. Wind buffets around her, whipping her hair around her face as Tychpius’ humongous, triple set of dragon-like wings spaced evenly apart holding them aloft. Still hissing in amusement, Tychpius pumps their powerful wings, flying high and around Hogwarts.

Daphne can’t seem to shut her gobsmacked jaw, and she waves to the Quidditch players out on patrol in a dazed way. Tychpius circles the castle again, this time with a little more flare, and Daphne can see the faces of students pressing up against the windows.

Then, the serpent angles themself to the ruins of the Shrieking Shack, coiling their length up, Tychpius lands delicately in the small meadow in front of the Shack, their wings folding and disappearing back into their body. Once they touch land, Daphne lets out a shaky gasp of relief, and she slumps in the saddle.

Tychpius hisses something, and magic ripples in the ruins, revealing a motley group of people. Daphne gasps again as a tidal wave of heated emotion slams into her. Quickly, she draws her wand and aims it shakily at them.

“What did Her—woah!” Daphne grabs one of the saddle spokes for balance as Tychpius leans down sharply to lick at Hermione, huffing when their tongue seems to slip around Hermione’s astral-projecting form. Daphne’s eyes snap to the other twin, and she shivers as she sees the hunger in those amber-brown eyes.

The incessant tugging of her heart and soul that had stirred to life erratically over the past month when her Mate started back up again in a vengeance, and it takes a few minutes for Daphne to realize that someone is asking her a question.

“Pardon, what was that?” She asks, trying to pull her gaze away from Amélie’s heated stare.

“Where are the Hogwarts Royalty?” Omega Tracey Davis asks again, slowly with a slight annoyance coloring her tone.

“Oh, um, Pansy’s been waiting for you, uh, Neville’s in charge, in the Great Hall usually,” Daphne stammers, and Tychpius lowers their head fully so she can climb out of the saddle. She misses Tracey’s conflicted expression as her eyes are drawn back to Amélie.

Dimly, she’s aware that Hermione waves the others of the group away, giving them some privacy, the group making their way to the Great Hall and Tychpius _Slither-Syasasions_ away. Now, it’s just Daphne and Amélie.

“Hey,” the Veela Alfā husks, taking a step closer. The darkening orange hues of the golden hour bath Amélie’s face beautifully, her eyes burning bright.

“Hey,” Daphne says, ducking her head, suddenly shy under the penetrating gaze undressing her.

“I missed you,” Amélie murmurs, closing the distance between them and entwining Daphne’s fingers with hers. Daphne shudders at the electric pleasure that sparks under her skin at the touch.

“And I you,” she replies, licking her dry lips, noticing how Amélie’s eyes flick down to them.

“Did you accomplish what you set out to do?” She asks quickly, nervous about succumbing into kissing her Mate and wanting it desperately at the same time. Amélie bites her lip, a flash of sadness crossing her face at Daphne’s avoidance.

“I did,” the Veela Alfā rubs her thumb over Daphne’s knuckles soothingly.

“That’s good,” Daphne says, blushing at the warmth emitting from their hands.

“Daphne.”

Daphne finally looks up at Amélie’s deep, breathy moan of her name, a beat red flush heating up her face and neck.

“Amélie,” she says back, and the Veela Alfā closes her eyes as a full body shiver wracks her tall frame.

“I have to tell you something,” Amélie’s grave expression sends Daphne on high alert. She squeezes their fingers together, and shuffles forward so their fronts are pressed against each other. They both sigh with longing and relief at the simple move.

“I’m not going to be fighting at Hogwarts.”

Daphne blinks, taking a few seconds to comprehend her Mate’s words.

“Excuse me?”

Amélie leans down, pressing their foreheads together, her eyes pleading with her to understand.

“Hermione and I won’t be at Hogwarts when the Death Eaters attack,’ Amélie says slowly.

“Then I’m coming with you,” Daphne says automatically, but the Veela Alfā’s already shaking her head.

“It’s too dangerous, even for Hermione and I, we—I need you here, safe—”

“Hogwarts isn’t safe, Amélie! We’re preparing to fight against _Death Eaters!_ ” Daphne snaps, and she tries to wrench her hands away from Amélie’s, but her Mate keeps a firm grip on her. Daphne doesn’t feel all that good now.

“Daphne, please, I can’t afford to keep you out of the way _and_ battle Ouroboros, you could get killed!” Amélie pleads, but Daphne scoffs.

“I don’t need you to ‘keep me out of the way’! I can handle myself and fight alongside you—especially if it’s against Ouroboros himself!” Daphne growls, successfully jerking her hands from Amélie’s grasp.

“Furthermore! No where in England is safe! I could die here just as surely as I could die by your side! And I don’t need your permission to stay by your side!” Daphne yells, and Amélie flinches hard.

“I’m sorry, I told you so you’d know, but you can’t come with us—” Amélie takes a step back, but Daphne takes a step forward, snatching a fistful of the Veela Alfā’s shirt collar.

“Well too bad! You’ll have to curse me away then! Is that what you want?” Daphne snarls, getting up in her Mate’s face.

“No!” Amélie grunts, reaching up to try to gently loosen Daphne’s grip that’s causing her shirt to dig uncomfortably into her neck. They both know that the Veela Alfā is physically much stronger than Daphne and could easily pry her off if she really wanted to.

“When are you two leaving?” Daphne demands, placing her free hand on her hip and twisting the grip on Amélie’s shirt with the other. Her Mate winces, and it sends a little thrill through Daphne. She’ll have to explore this feeling with Amélie later.

“Right after we—ah, borrow—Harry’s Cloak,” Amélie stammers, and Daphne raises an eyebrow at that.

“Borrow, or _borrow_ borrow?”

“The latter,” Amélie gasps, and Daphne loosens her grip, spreading her fingers over her Mate’s racing heart. Peace and calm fill her for some reason, and she instinctively knows she’s gotten through to Amélie.

“Alright. Harry’s been holed up with Draco staking out the Astronomy Tower, which gives us ample time to track down the Cloak,” she says decisively.

“Us?” Amélie says cautiously, rubbing where rough red lines from her shirt mar her neck.

“Yes, ‘ _us_ ’, Amé, I’m sure Harry’s lent the Cloak out to someone, and we need to find them and skidaddle before we’re spotted. I’m assuming that we don’t want people to know we’re leaving?”

Amélie nods, her eyes locked on Daphne.

“Then we should get a move on, it’s already getting pretty dark out and—what are you staring at?”

The Veela Alfā smiles broadly, and she caresses Daphne’s cheek with a knuckle.

“You called me Amé,” Amélie purrs, and Daphne’s not entirely certain that it’s dark enough to hide her blush.

“Do you like it?” She asks, and in answer her Mate places a lingering kiss on her other cheek.

“Yes.”

Daphne flushes more at the throaty word whispered in her ear, and she hums her acceptance loudly.

“Right! This way,” Daphne refuses to look back as she leads Amélie back to Hogwarts.

* * *

Hermione’s just handed Professor Carrow off to the adult Order members—having watched Thalia had dragged Pippa to find Alpha Susan Bones and the rest of her Hufflepuff friends, Harold went off to join Neville, and Tracey was swept off her feet and promptly carried away by Pansy—and is hurrying down an empty corridor when something barrels into her leg.

‡ _Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss! [Brood-Queen-Mother!] Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss! [Brood-Queen-Mother!]_ ‡ Meissa hisses joyfully, waving her arms up in a clear invitation to be picked up.

»Mei! What are you doing here alone?« Hermione gasps in Velian, crouching down and picking her daughter up.

‡ _I essscaped!_ ‡ The little Alpha hisses proudly.

»Alpha Meissa Astra Bellatrix Black, who did you escape from?« Hermione demands, and her daughter suddenly adopts an innocent expression.

‡ _Ssshe sssent away Sssoursss-Sssoxxx-Sssriensss, [Court-Fox-Friend,]_ ‡ Meissa grumbles.

»Who?«

Hermione ducks into an empty alcove, and leans against the wall.

‡ _Sssoursss-Sssoxxx-Sssrienss [Court-Fox-Friend], Twin’sss Bonded,_ ‡ the little Alpha explains flippantly, and Hermione taps her nose scoldingly.

»You’ve been spending too much time around Tyche,« she mutters, but her daughter shakes her head.

‡ _Not Tyche, Curly!_ ‡

Hermione sighs.

»Bellatrix, of course. Does she curse around you?«

Meissa nods vigorously, smiling happily.

‡ _Yesss! Curly sssaysss Bonded isss a sssexxxy mothe—_ ‡

»Okay! That’s enough, I get it. So where is Bellatrix now?« Hermione interrupts, making a mental note to speak to Bellatrix about minding her words around their impressionable daughter.

‡ _Having sssexxx with Bonded,_ ‡ Meissa hisses casually, and Hermione sighs.

»Right. So who else takes care of you other than Bellatrix and Vicencta?« She asks, and Meissa tilts her head, thinking.

‡ _Sssoursss-Sssrassse-Sssriensss, [Court-Drake-Friend,]_ ‡ she hisses, and Hermione quickly translates the title in her head.

»Draco? Okay, then let’s go find Draco,« she says, placing a hand on the alcove wall.

‡ _Why?_ ‡ Meissa hisses.

»Well, you shouldn’t be alone during times like these,« Hermione replies, silently asking Hogwarts to direct her to Draco. A staircase appears behind her.

‡ _But Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother] isss here,_ ‡ the little Alpha hisses, confused. Hermione purses her lips, and climbs the spiraling staircase.

»Yeah, I’m here,« she whispers.

* * *

Hermione steps onto the platform of the Astronomy Tower, and a phantom wind hisses against her semi-corporeal skin. Meissa picks up on the somber mood, and she stays quiet. Surveying the tower, she doesn’t see a lick of Draco at all. Suddenly, she senses a build of magic, and she dodges neatly out of the way of the curse.

Meissa lets out an enraged growl, her eyes glowing so bright that it blinds Hermione and the attacker. Her daughter’s magic surges out from her, creating a swirling shield of protectively angry intent and Thrall. Thrall that’s compressing into drill-like needles about to puncture their attacker.

“Wait! Don’t shoot!”

Meissa and Hermione snap their heads to the frantic Harry, the Alpha sliding between them and the wincing Draco.

“Cease fire! It’s us! Mei, it’s Harry!” He pants, his open hands raised in surrender. Meissa narrows her eyes accusatorially at him, and the Thrall-drills slowly recede, but they don’t go away.

“Ugh, my eyes,” Draco moans.

»Mei, it’s alright, you can put away your shield,« Hermione soothes, but Meissa grips Hermione tighter.

‡ _We’d never try to intentionally harm you,_ ‡ Harry hisses softly, stepping forward until he’s barely touching the edge of the shifting shield. Meissa stares thinly at him, and gradually, slowly, the shield shrinks back into the little Alpha. Harry gives her a warm smile, and he reaches behind him for Draco.

“Come on Drake, you owe Mei and Hermione an apology,” the Alpha says gently, and Draco looks in his direction.

“Sorry, I dddidddn’ttt mean ttto scare you like ttthattt, I’m jjjusttt jjjumpy, ttthattt’s all,” Draco says meekly, and Meissa huffs.

“Well, what are you doing up here?” Harry asks after a moment of awkward silence.

_I’m here to drop off Mei with you two,_ Hermione writes in the air with Cursed Fire. Harry and Draco tilt their heads curiously at her new method of speaking.

“Oh, okay,” Harry says, and he takes Meissa from Hermione’s outstretched arms. The little Alpha squirms a little, looking back at Hermione with wide eyes, but she settles a little in Harry’s arms.

“Where are you going?” Draco asks, and Hermione waves vaguely in lieu of an answer.

_Oh by the way, Thalia wants to borrow the Cloak,_ Hermione writes, and the Alphas’ eyes get big.

“Ttthalia?”

“She’s here? Since when?”

“How do you know her?”

_Turns out she’s my younger half-sister,_ Hermione writes, and both Alphas and Meissa’s jaws drop.

‡ _Sssalsss-Sssroosss-Sssirasss-Sssroosssasss? [Half-Brood-Mother-Sister?]_ ‡ Her daughter hisses confusedly.

“I knew ttthere was somettthing abouttt her,” Draco mutters to himself thoughtfully.

“Oh, well, I don’t have the Cloak, I let Ron borrow it,” Harry says apologetically. Hermione raises her hand to write her reply, but suddenly she feels a mental tug on her astral-projecting form.

_That’s fine, I’ll just ask him,_ Hermione pauses writing when a single, blue protective spell lights up the night sky, quickly followed by more in rapid succession. Hermione snaps her gaze back to her daughter’s curious gaze before her astral-projection cuts off.


	22. Death: The Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the Battle of Hogwarts has started, shit going down there, and Hermione and Amélie take a trip down graphically fucked up memory lane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long to write—but I promise that the second part the Death chapter will be coming soon!
> 
> (I promise to to at least post it before New Year's Eve!)

Amélie Side-Apparates on top of a mountain across from the Black Lake, panting from having dragged Daphne down the path to the Boathouse, and into a rowboat where a single blast of Cursed Fire propelled them under the huge dome-shield over Hogwarts as it came down on them.

“What— _gasp_ —was— _gasp_ —for?!” Daphne wheezes, holding her stomach and looking queasy from the rushed Side-Apparation. A little guilt peppers seeing her Mate in pain and knowing she was the cause of it. Amélie opens her mouth to reply, but groans when a migraine slams into her skull, and she feels Hermione mentally groaning with her.

_I forgot about this side effect,_

Hermione mumbles.

“Yeah,” Amélie grunts, trying to distract herself from the pounding in her head. Suddenly, a volley of roughly a thousand _Killing Curses_ from a ridge three mountains to the east lights up the night sky with sizzling hisses and deathly trails of magic.

“Oh, Merlin,” Daphne gasps as the curses batter against the dome-shield; the thunderous vibrations echoing through the ground.

“We need to go,” Amélie says quietly, readjusting her grip lightly on Daphne’s arm.

“But we didn’t find the Cloak,” the Beta mumbles, still staring as Hogwarts’ shield is hammered continuously by the relentless first strike.

_You didn’t? Harry said Ron has it!_

Hermione huffs.

“He was the first one we checked, and didn’t recall asking for it,” Amélie growls, and Daphne glances at her, understanding dawning on her face.

_Then . . . Someone stole it,_

Hermione whispers in horror.

“Amélie! Look!” Daphne shrieks, pointing to the ridge where the Death Eaters are positioned. Black light illuminates the mountainside, flowing out far and wide, and at the pinacle of the light’s reach, a needle thin stream of light—somehow so much more blinding that it makes the white light seem soft and hazy—blips in and out of sight in a matter of seconds.

A beat.

_WHITEOUT._

* * *

Amélie stumbles numbly in the pitch black darkness for anything to orient herself. The agony in her head won’t stop, and she can not comprehend anything other than an insane loop of _I’M-IN-PAIN-HELP-ME-IT-HURTS-I’M-BURNING-I’M-IN-PAIN-HELP-ME-IT-HURTS-I’M-BURNING—_

_Amélie!_

She clings to the sound of her Hermione shouting name, then falls over into a cool, tickling sensation.

Grass, her instincts fleetingly tell her.

_Switch with me, Amélie! SWITCH!_

Amélie gasps in air, panting, open-mouthed.

_IT’S COMING! IT’S COMING! IT’S COMING!_

Amélie realizes a few seconds too late that this is the first time she’s heard Hermione screaming hysterically in utter terror. Dazedly she wonders what can scare her twin so badly, but in an instant, she gets her answer.

All of Amélie Veela instincts kickstart from zero to a hundred in a split second, when she feels an oily presence creeping up on her. She leaps to her feet, heart racing a kilometer a minute. It is only because of her Mate instinct, that she remembers to grab the half-lucid Daphne before Side-Apparating anywhere away from Hogwarts.

* * *

Hermione opens her eyes and finds herself in the backyard of an abandoned Muggle house. She’s drenched in cold sweat, and filled with urge to _FLEE-FLEE-FLEE_ pumping in her veins like a jackhammer. She shudders, and crumples in the overgrown, weed filled grass. Daphne, similarly, is slumped next to her.

“Wuh ’appened?” Daphne slurs, struggling to get to her hands and knees.

“I-I-I don’t know,” Hermione shivers, her Thrall roiling within her uncomfortably, itching to burst out and lash out at nothing in particular.

“That light—who—was that— _Him?_ ” Daphne mutters, slowly raising herself into a siting position.

“I don’t know,” Hermione whispers again, turning her head to look up at the cloud-filled dark sky.

“Where are we?” the Beta asks, looking around.

“I don’t know,” Hermione repeats, sounding like a broken record.

“Does Amélie?”

Hermione turns inward mentally, but her twin is silent, her consciousness still struggling to pull herself together.

_Amélie?_ Hermione probs gently.

_. . . She . . . Once sang this nursery rhyme . . ._

Amélie mumbles.

“A nursery rhyme?” Hermione repeats, so that Daphne can listen. The Beta scoots closer to Hermione, laying a hand on her arm. She feels her twin nudge to take partial control, and Hermione releases some of her control.

“ _Fly fly fly high,_

_Don’t cry cry cry,_

_Oh Finch, you’ll die die die._

_/_

_Fell fell fell deep,_

_Don’t creep creep creep,_

_Oh Finch, you’ll weep weep weep._

_/_

_Flee flee flee them,_

_Don’t hum hum hum,_

_Oh Finch, you’ll slum slum slum._

_/_

_Find find find Omen,_

_Don’t open open open,_

_Oh Finch, you’re broke-broke-broken._ ”

An eerie silence falls over all of them when Amélie finishes the rhyme.

“Merlin, who tells this to a _child?_ ” Daphne says, aghast. Amélie chuckles humorlessly through Hermione.

“It’s the oldest recorded encounter between Veela and beings who would become our greatest natural enemy, and it’s the only reference to Omen, the Unknown Goddess,” Amélie says softly.

“Do the beings have a name?” Daphne asks gently. A chilly breeze blows over them, making the Beta shiver.

“. . . _Demons,_ ” Hermione’s twin answers, before relinquishing her partial control over Hermione.

* * *

Fleur sits in her rocking chair on the porch, staring out at the turbulent waves crashing against the beach. She doesn’t know why she agreed to move to such a dreary looking beach, in a country with dreary weather, in a cottage with a dreary Ma—

Pain stabs her in the head, and she winces. Taking a sip of her tea, the pain eases, and she forgets about it. The constant cloudiness of England always annoys her, and Fleur images herself relaxing under an umbrella in a warm and sunny place, reclining next to her gorgeous Mate—

Fleur growls as the headache rebounds back, irritating her. Her teacup shakes, and she realizes she has a white-knuckle grip on the delicate handle. Quickly setting the tea cup on its saucer, she surges to her feet and strides off to the ocean. She loves Bill, he’s her husband, but he’s not her Mate.

She wonders why she’s never brought up that conversation that she— _pAiN_ —has?— _PAin_ —might?— _pAIn_ —

Fleur whimpers, sinks down into the sand, grinding the heels of her palm into her eyes, shaking her head frantically as her headache crashes into a full blown migraine. Something within her, her Veela maybe, desperately wants to think about her Mate, but Fleur can’t. Not when thinking about her Mate— _PAIN_ —

It hurts.

Fleur cries silently, sitting back on the sandy grass, and draws her legs up to her chest and rocks herself. Something’s wrong, but for the life of her, she can’t figure it out. Staring at the waves, she suddenly realizes she’s all alone. Bill is with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix at Hogwarts, and he wanted his wife to be safe at home.

She doesn’t know why she listened when he told her to stay, it’s not like her to not accompany her loved ones in battle. Staying behind . . . it doesn’t feel right. Fleur latches onto that determination, feeling more alive than she has in months.

So what if Bill ordered her to stay behind like some vulnerable housewife? She was his wife, his equal, not—never his lesser! Fleur stands up proudly, and suddenly it’s as if she can finally feel the sun behind those oppressive, gloomy clouds.

Today, something big is going to happen; she can sense it. She takes a deep breath of the salty sea air, and settles herself. She will go to Hogwarts, and she’ll help defend the castle, and its students. She will fight side-by-side with Bill, and they will strike down their enemies. She will find her _Mate_.

Whirling to Disapparate, it doesn’t register to Fleur that in that moment, the pain that tried to control, her barely affected her.

* * *

Hermione and Daphne tentatively explore the abandoned Muggle house, both of them knowing they’re stalling the inevitable; confronting Ouroboros. The revelation that he might have a Demon in his ranks has shaken them, leaving them unsure as to how to continue.

“Well, if there was anything in this place, it was cleaned out long ago,” Daphne says as they pass through another room barren of any furniture and decor.

“They even took out the appliances,” Hermione notes, standing in front of where there should have been a kitchen sink and counters.

“Hmm, a mystery,” Daphne muses, and crouches down near the wall bisecting the dining room and the front door hallway and staircase. Tilting her head, the Beta scratches randomly at the wall, gasping when flakes of paint come off. Hermione walks over to her, crouching down as well.

“What is it?” she asks, and Daphne squints her eyes, scratching at the paint again. Hermione lights her hand on Cursed Fire, and holds it up so that they can see better.

Soon, flake by flake, Daphne’s discovery is revealed.

“Oh, it’s just another coat of paint,” the Beta picks out the paint flakes stuck under her nails, and bored, she meanders upstairs. Hermione tenses her legs to stand, but something about the original coat of paint pulls at her mind.

Leaning close, she presses the hand that’s on Cursed Fire against the wall, and her Fire obeys her unspoken command. A thin, pale wave of Cursed Fire races along all the walls, ceiling, and floor of the house, the sounds of hissing filling the air as the top layer of every surface is burned away.

When the Fire is done, the Cursed Fire dies away. Hermione stands slowly, surveying everything, shell-shocked. Her memories of this place are nigh unrecoverable, just little things standing out here and there, but Hermione remembers with a vengeance the colors of her childhood home.

She thinks she ought to be feeling a range of emotion about this revelation, but all she can feel is a slight sense of curiosity and uneasiness. She Apparated here somehow without knowing where this place actually existed. Questions build in her head, but Hermione has an inkling they’ll never be answered.

Someone went to great lengths to strip this house of its history—her and Amélie’s history. Someone who didn’t want a secret to ever be found. Hermione recalls Thalia’s insistance that their Mum was murdered by a Werewolf, as the papers had claimed. Yet, what she had corrected her half-sister stands true; there is no evidence of a Werewolf attack.

“Hey, I think someone carved a small snake on the ceiling!” Daphne calls down to her. A flash of the past surges in Hermione’s mind, but it’s too fast for her to see anything clearly. Amélie stirs heavily in her mind, and wordlessly, her twin turns her direction to a section of the front hallway.

Hermione carefully walks towards it, noticing how the bicolored wall pattern flows around a large, rectangular blank space. A place for a door. She raises her hand, fingers centimeters from the blank space—

“Hermione? There’s something you need to see,” Daphne’s voice travels down from the top of the staircase. Hermione drops her hand, and Amélie lets out a sigh, although Hermione can’t tell if it’s relieved, frustrated, guilty, or all of them.

“Coming,” she replies, and follows the Beta into one of the back rooms. In the corner, are a series of tally marks, each with a name written vertically above them.

_Redhide._

_Stoneeye._

_Tallgrass._

_Longone._

_Littlefang._

_Hookhead._

The names go on and on, but Daphne places her hand on Hermione’s shoulder, and points up. Hermione cranes her neck, lighting up a few floating Cursed Fire spheres around the room. Squinting at the crude carving of the small snake on the ceiling, she gasps loudly in the silence, when she sees the name beside it.

_Eros._

“This place . . . you’re connected to it, aren’t you?” Daphne asks softly. Hermione glances at the Beta, but her mind flashes an image of a small black snake in a garden, hissing something at her. He was her friend, long before He became her Familiar.

“. . . It was my house . . . before I was Blood-Adopted,” Hermione murmurs, and Daphne raises an eyebrow.

“Do you or Amélie know what happened here?”

Hermione shakes her head.

“Do you want to leave?”

The question hangs in the air, and Hermione thinks of the blank door space.

_Do it,_

Amélie whispers.

_What do you know?_ Hermione demands, but her twin remains firm.

_Not enough._ Do _it._

Hermione silently holds out her hand to Daphne. The Beta takes it, and Hermione leads them down to the blank door space, trepidation filling her. Amélie is just as anxious as she, although her twin tries valiantly to hide it. Daphne squeezes their clasped hands, and it gives Hermione the courage to press her palm against the blank door space.

A door with bloody handprints materializes.

* * *

It was chaos, students scrambling around to defend a Hogwarts encompassed in flames. Death Eaters, Trolls, Giants, and an unending hoard of dark creatures pour forth from the Forbidden Forest. Neville can barely keep track of friend or foe, his head still pounding and ears ringing from the colossal magical blast that shattered Hogwarts’ shield as if it were thin glass.

He fires off a curse at a Death Eater in mid smoke-Apparation, but they spiral out of the way, crackling madly.

“Die, Longbottom!” the Death Eater roars, firing off an _Avada_. Neville throws himself to one side, rolling over quickly and leaping to his feet, wand aimed, but suddenly the Death Eater screams in pain.

Neville blinks in confusion as the Death Eater slams to the ground, his smoke-Apparation failing him, and reveals Alpha Rabastan Lestrange being throttled by a massive snake.

“Urk—gak—helgh—ughl—” Lestrange wheezes, eyes bugling in ultimate terror as the snake constricts its coils even tighter, and Neville hears the creaking and breaking of bones. Before Neville realizes what’s happening, Lestrange lets out a broken gasp, and slumps on the floor, body limp and eyes glassy.

“Hermione?” Neville asks, a smile creeping onto his face. The huge snake unwinds from Lestrange’s corpse, and shifts, and Neville is shocked again.

“Sours-Sios-Sriens . . . Speaker-Sueens-Usurper . . . Would . . . Not . . . Want . . . You . . . Dead,” the Asian Beta woman says in a raspy, halting voice.

“Who are you?” Neville asks, following the woman as she glides over the debris littering practically every square meter of the castle.

“Duck.”

“Wha—ah!”

Neville is thrown to the ground by the Beta woman as she launches herself at a Death Eater swooping overhead, shifting into her snake form. The Death Eater careens into a wall, dead before he even hits the ground. The Beta woman, an Animagus, Neville assumes, shifts back, dragging him to his feet.

“Wait—where are we going?”

“Sersonal-Sionas-Sasvisor!” the Beta woman replies, racing up to the seventh floor. Neville realizes with a start that they’re heading to the Room of Requirement. By some stroke of luck, they make it there unharmed, and the massive door suddenly appears without them having to summon it.

Neville keeps his mouth shut as the woman flings open the door, revealing a dank, huge circular tunnel sloping downwards into the abyss.

“ _Saasssshshsasshsshhsashsstsssatashhsssashssttssthhs!_ ” the Beta woman yells in Parseltongue, startling Neville. A blast of cold, damp air rumbles out from the tunnel, and an answering hiss rumbles back. The woman smiles brightly at Neville, and he returns it hesitantly.

“We . . . must . . . find—”

Whatever the woman is going to say is interrupted when the floor suddenly gives out beneath them, both of them screaming as they fall. Neville instinctively curls in on himself, as he feels the cool sensation of scales wrapping around him, protecting his body for when—

_THUD!_

Neville groans as his headache returns in full, but he has little time to dwell on it as he’s being dragged hurriedly out of the way of the collapsing stone and mortar above them.

“Up!”

Neville scrambles to his feet, staggering weakly.

“Quick!” the Beta woman urges, pulling Neville after her. Together, they run through the shuddering castle, fires burning everywhere, defending each other from Death Eaters, when a blast of magic shatters the wall in front of them. Two Death Eaters smoke-Apparate in front of them.

The Beta woman, in her snake form manges to get the leap on Alpha Nikol Avery, killing him with a fatal, venomous bite to his jugular. Neville trades blows with Alpha Antonin Dolohov, the Death Eater lazily blocking every spell Neville casts his way.

“Shame it had to end this way. _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

Neville involuntarily squeezes his eyes shut, his body trying to move out of the Unforgivable’s way, but he knows he’s too late. The sickly green light flares behind his eyelids, and mocking laughter sounds. Neville’s eyes snap open, and he drops to his knees, gaping in horror at the lifeless body of the nameless Beta woman who saved him lying before him.

“What a pair of weaklings you two make!” Dolohov roars with laughter, and Neville sees red.

“ _Cruico!_ ” he roars, the red spell lashing out at Dolohov, choking him mid-laugh and flinging him a few meters away. The Death Eater winces, but he shifts to his feet, a mad snarl gracing his lips.

“You stupid Omega, you think that hurt?! That was merely a tickle compared to what Our Lord can do!” Dolohov roars, charging at Neville.

That’s when something strange happens.

Neville sees red again, but it’s not rage. Rather, it’s the beautiful red of a Phoenix dropping something soft in his lap. He doesn’t think about it consciously; his arm moves on its own, reaching into the Sorting Hat and wrapping around a warm hilt. Dolohov casts a curse, but Neville raises the long broadsword, and swings.

Hot, thick liquid splatters to the sides of him, biting steam knocking him onto his back. Gingerly, Neville props himself up on his elbows, and gasps. The lower part of Dolohov is slumped—too close to the nameless Beta woman for his liking, so Neville drags her closer to him—and sees the Death Eater’s head and shoulders decorate the wall.

Neville looks down at the pulsating Sword of Gryffindor, still steaming gently. He’s killed someone now. Gripping the sword, he lets out a breath, and tells himself that it was either him or Dolohov.

“. . . Sios.”

He shrieks in fright, dropping the sword as he stares gobsmacked at the stirring Beta woman.

“Up,” she groans, and he helps her to her feet, quickly grabbing the sword.

“How—you took a direct hit!” he exclaims, helping them to cover. The Beta woman closes her eyes, a single tear trailing down her cheek.

“Horcrux,” she rasps, so quietly that Neville has to lean in to hear what she said.

“Huh?”

The Beta woman doesn’t respond, instead, her eyes fall on the Sword of Gryffindor clutched tightly in Neville’s hand, and she violently shivers.

“To . . . Defeat . . . _Him_ . . . Kill . . . Me,” she pleads, her eyes still locked on the sword.

“What? No! I can’t just kill you!” Neville exclaims, flinching as an errant spell crashes over their heads. The woman frowns, and she flicks her eyes up to his.

“Must! . . . _His_ . . . Split . . . Soul . . . In . . . ME!”

Neville gasps in fright when the Beta woman pushes him frantically against the wall.

“Must! . . . Must! . . . Please . . . Sours-Sios-Sriens! . . . _Him_ . . . Me . . . Connected! . . . Must . . . Sever!”

Neville squeezes his eyes shut, unable to rationalize the thought of killing his savior, even if the possibility that murdering her could end this battle.

“There has to be another way,” he says weakly, opening his eyes, but the Beta woman shakes her head.

“I . . . Am . . . Immortal . . . Except . . . . From . . . Sword,” she gestures with her head at the gleaming Sword of Gryffindor.

“ . . . I . . .”

“Swear . . . Please . . . I . . . Never . . . Wanted . . . To . . . Be . . . _His_.”

Neville sighs deeply, and looks at the sword in his hand. It pulses at his attention, and he senses that it wants to taste more blood.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take your life in cold blood,” Neville whispers.

The woman bows her head, concealing whatever she may be feeling.

“What’s your name?” he asks softly, and the Beta woman looks back up at him.

“. . . Nagini.”

* * *

_Even though it’s well into the night, Hermione arrives home before her parents. She open the gate, and fishes for the spare key hidden in a crack in the bottom of their flower pot. Holding it up to insert it into the lock, the pressure pushes the door open a bit. Hermione freezes. Her parents have never in her life left the door unlocked or open._

_Instantly, her instincts flare. Carefully, she pulls off her backpack, holding it by the strap, the house key in a death grip. She has two options; call the police, or go find her parents. She hears a low thud, and Hermione slips through the door before she realizes it, and—_

—seven year old Amélie takes over, her body morphing into her True Veela form. Silently placing her backpack on the floor, she creeps into her house. Tilting her head, she hears dull, sporadic thumping coming from the basement. Clinging to the shadows along the wall, she scurries behind the coat rack, listening intently, her senses on high alert. Her heart beats seems so loud in the silence, and . . . and she can smell something different.

Taking a few small sniffs, Amélie slowly stalks to the closed door of the basement, the smell of iron and the dim light permeating underneath the door. She pauses when she hears a soft squelching sound, and presses her ear against the—oddly wet—door. The background hum of the furnace and the inner sounds of the house fill her head, but above all that, she hears the muffled sound a man and two others.

A trickle of wetness runs down her feathered check, and Amélie pulls back, instinctively touching her face. Looking at her darkened fingers, she realizes in a detached way that it’s blood. Taking a step back from the door, her eyes widen when she sees bloody handprints all over it, smeared downwards.

Her eyes flick down to the blood covered door knob, and she reaches for it, flinching when she almost loses her grip on the knob. It occurs to her then that she’s panting, and she forces herself to breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. Turning the knob, Amélie winces when it creeks shrilly in the oppressive stillness of the house.

All sounds cease in the basement, and the dim light clicks off. A sickening sweat dampens her skin, and it only grows as Amélie makes the decision to tiptoe down into an obvious ambush. With every shaky step she takes, the scent of the stranger lingering around the corner of the stairs grows stronger; muskier with unbridled excitement.

She pauses on the step just before her legs would become visible, holding her breath, her body poised for fight or flight. The stranger doesn’t move, but Amélie sniffs his eagerness. He’s waiting for her, and she’s waiting for him: both of them held back by a thin stretch of wall and their will to out-nerve the other.

Amélie breathes slow and focused, drawing all the scents into her, and she can’t hold back a tiny gasp. She’s so focused on the stranger, she somehow misses the pungent odor of copious amounts of blood. Her instincts tell her that this is a life or death situation, and the stranger has every intention of killing her.

So she takes action, crouching, and aligning herself at the open space where the staircase continues past the wall. Shutting her eyes, and inhaling deeply, Amélie lets loose a torrent of her Cursed Fire from her hands and mouth.

The man lets out a startled roar, and Amélie darts around the corner, utilizing her True Veela form’s perfect night vision to lock onto the intruder. Not wasting precious seconds, she lunges at him, her small, but still deadly sharp, talons ablaze with her Cursed Fire aimed directly at his throat.

She catches a glimpse of his pupils shrinking in terror just before an ironclad grip clamps around her neck, jerking her back in one smooth motion. Yowling, Amélie thrashes against the grasp, kicking and clawing at the arm keeping her captive.

A single dull light clicks on, blinding Amélie, making her tense up, her talons clenching the hand at her neck. An unamused sigh behind her ruffles her hair, and Amélie freezes, keenly aware of the danger at her back. Her body automatically goes limp, her talons sliding down from bloody fingers.

“Get up.”

Amélie shivers at her Maman’s icily in English, instantly remembering there an intruder with them. She glances at him, blinking as her eyes adjust to the light. He stumbles to his feet, adjusting his suit over his slim frame and trying—and failing—to gain control of his composure. He’s a lot younger than Amélie assumed, probably somewhere in his mid-twenties.

“This makes the second _Life-Debt_ you owe me, Xìntú,” Maman states flatly, droppingAmélie suddenly and unceremoniously. Her grunt of pain as she lands on her rear goes unnoticed as the Chinese Alpha man’s and Maman’s bodies glow with magic. He says something in Mandarin in a venerable tone of voice, and Maman shoots him a withering look.

“Carry on,” the Alfā Veela orders, and before Amélie can see what Xìntú is doing, Maman crouches in front of her, filling her entire view.

»You’re not supposed to be here.«

Amélie ducks her head at Maman’s low growl, curling her legs close to her chest.

»I’m sorry, Maman,« she whimpers. The Alfā Veela shifts her weight, and she places a hand on Amélie’s leg.

»Look at what you did,« Maman murmurs, leaning close so that Amélie can feel the feathers on the Alfā Veela’s face brush against hers. She obeys, eyes fluttering with nausea when she sees the damage she has wrought upon Maman’s arm.

»How can Thrall help?«

Amélie gulps before she answers Maman’s demand, realizing that she’s now in an impromptu lesson—one of many she’s had through the years.

»It can control magic within a vessel, and/or just the vessel,« she replies, ears perking as she hears the Xìntú grunt, and chains rattle.

»Control how?«

»Anything?« Amélie answers uncertainly, and freezes when Maman huffs, disappointed.

»Watch. Feel.«

Amélie’s breath is knocked out of her chest when Maman’s Thrall coils around her’s, stretching a tendril from Amélie to wrap around Maman’s injured arm. Eyes wide and unblinking, she watches and feels the too-warm sensations of Maman’s Thrall healing her arm through Amélie’s Thrall.

However, it’s not enough; the cuts are struggling to close, and the blood is too slow to seep back.

»Thrall is only the second Gift the Goddess bestowed Veela; it can only manipulate what is there, not control everything,« Maman lectures.

»Cursed Fire, on the other talon, is the first Gift.«

The Alfā Veela releases Amélie’s Thrall, and she spits out a plume of brilliant white Cursed Fire. Amélie gas never seen such searing flames before, but that doesn’t matter, since Maman’s Cursed Fire engulfs her arm, healing all the wounds in a span of seconds.

»Why is your fire white?« Amélie asks, looking up into Maman’s single burning, amber-blue eye directly. The Alfā Veela looks her up and down carefully, and an amused expression settles on her features.

»I murdered someone.«

Amélie tilts her head nervously, trying to figure out if Maman is serious or not, but before she can think deeper on the matter, Xìntú says something grovelingly.

“Very well, I grant you leave of the bodiez, onze we are finizhed,” Maman states in a bored voice, and Amélie hears the Alpha man mutter to himself excitedly.

»Maman?« Amélie asks, unsure of the situation. The sounds of chains clinking rattles her nerves.

»Do you know how House Mendonica deals with traitors?« Maman asks softly.

Amélie shakes her head.

»Trial of Blood,« Maman drawls, standing up and to the side in one fluid motion, and Amélie screams.

* * *

Hermione lurches back, her body slamming against a wall. There’s a ringing in her ears, and she realizes she’s gasping for air.

“What was that?” she gasps, and Daphne looks at her bewilderedly.

“Nothing happened that I could see—wait, did you see something?”

Hermione ignores the Beta’s questions.

“Answer me,” she orders coldly, and Daphne falls silent.

_I don’t know,_

Amélie mutters, and Hermione scowls.

“What do you mean, ‘I don’t know’?”

_. . . I made myself forget._

“What? Why?”

Daphne looks at her curiously, questions obviously bubbling within her, but the Beta withholds them.

_I think . . . I did something . . . Bad?_

Amélie admits in a quiet, small voice. Hermione pauses, rethinks her next question, and then asks.

“Can you tell me what you think?”

_Open the door, Hermione._

Hermione purses her lips at the non-answer.

“What did Amélie say?” Daphne asks, and Hermione glances down at her.

“To open the door,” she replies, and she grasps the door knob—old, crusted blood flaking off at her touch—and turns it. Descending down into darkness, hand-in-hand with Daphne, Hermione casting a light the horrors of the basement with her Cursed Fire.

* * *

Xìntú is standing in the corner chattering to himself madly, but Amélie doesn’t hear a single sound he’s making. She knows Maman is watching her intently, so she forces herself to swallow the scared whimper, lifts her chin imperiously, and prays to Rozanica that she doesn’t smell of fear.

Maman saunters to where her birth parents— _Hermione’s_ parents—are trussed up in glittering chains by their ankles to the ceiling, and circles behind them predatorily. Both are only dressed in their night clothes, and have been savagely beaten black, purple, and bloody.

Hermione’s mother is unconscious, or at least Amélie hopes she is. Hermione’s father, on the other hand, clearly is slipping in and out of consciousness, blinking slowly. Both have their arms over their heads, chained together at the wrists, but magically weighted down.

»What do you think, Amélie?« Maman asks in a coy hiss, sidling up next to Hermione’s father. Amélie’s mouth is suddenly dry, as she struggles to come up with an acceptable answer.

»Uh—he doesn’t have a bowl,« she blurts, and Maman slowly lowers her eye to the floor where John’s blood drips onto the cement.

»Well spotted,« Maman sneers, and Amélie flinches as a disappointed stare levels on her.

»B-but it’s because Veela blood is superior to Epsilon blood! ‘Exalted Ichor of the Wing’d shall never Spoil the Defoul’d Earth,’« Amélie adds quickly, quoting ancient Veela scripture. Maman allows Amélie to see a pleased twitch of her lips, and she stalks over to Hermione’s mother.

»Indeed, even though her soul belongs to the Trial, her blood is still pure,« Maman murmurs, trailing a talon along Hermione’s mother’s arm, drawing forth a single rivulet of blood. Amélie doesn’t blink, not wanting to appear as if she’s totally out of her depth, paralyzed as she tracks the rivulet as it dripping down into an obsidian bowl.

Amélie always suspected that Hermione’s mother was of Veela descent, but the revelation that the woman was a _pureblood_ Veela? _That_ never crossed Amélie’s mind at all.

»Amélie.«

»Yes, Maman?« she answers immediately. Maman beckons her over, and the silent order takes a second to register in her body. Leaping to her feet, she flares her wings a little to keep herself from stumbling on half-numb legs. Xìntú’s snicker turns into a deferential whimper with a single glare from Maman.

Hurrying to stand in front of Hermione’s mother as Maman gestures, Amélie wills herself not to focus on the details of the marred face centimeters from her own, but instead to blur out the mess of ruined flesh.

»Pick up the knife,« Maman quietly orders, positioning herself next to Hermione’s father. Amélie has a moment of tense panic, darting her eyes around frantically for the object in question. Luckily, she catches sight of a glint of light in the half-filled obsidian blood bowl.

Before she realizes what she’s doing, Amélie plunges her hand in to the blood, her fingers closing around the hilt of the knife. Withdrawing her hand, Amélie is distracted from the worry of Maman’s reaction by how gloppy Hermione’s mother’s blood feels coating her feathers.

It strikes her as odd in the moment, and she has a sudden out of body experience as she realizes the blood must have been in the bowl for a good while to have started congealing. Finally, she looks down at the knife; wickedly curved, made of Dragon bone, and _evil_.

All the feathers on Amélie’s body fluff in instinctual fear, and she half throws, half drops the knife to the floor. But just before it touches the floor, it freezes, and then it spins back up, smacking back into her hand.

Amélie freezes when she realizes what she’s done, and she doesn’t look in Maman’s direction. An oppressive silence settles over Amélie thickly, and for the first time she realizes how much white noise Xìntú’s insane mutterings have provided. Shakily, she wraps her fingers around the knife again, her Veela instincts screeching at her to _get away!_

The only reason Amélie is not running away, is because she can feel the tell-tale hints of Maman’s blistering power from her eye. It’s not out of courage, but fear of what may happen, that she raises her eyes just enough to look at Maman’s face.

She wishes she hadn’t.

Maman is staring at her mercilessly, and Amélie can plainly see the adjudicative threat as her burning amber-blue eye shifts into a consuming white.

»It would behoove you to respect the Trial, lest it deems you unworthy to partake in it,« Maman rumbles darkly, and Amélie nods quickly.

»Wake her,« Maman’s order weaves along the whispering song suddenly originating from the knife in her hand. Its husky, tempting words chant in her head, but they’re somehow almost drunkly incoherent.

Amélie suspects the blood has something to do with it, and no sooner does she think that through, the knife is moving on its own, dragging Amélie along with it. It presses itself against the shallow cut Maman made on Hermione’s mother’s arm. Sinking in the wound deeply, absorbing the blood that gurgles to the surface.

Xìntú giggles happily in his corner, and starts muttering to himself again.

Suddenly, Hermione’s mother snaps open her eyes with a pained gasp, and she startles Amélie by thrashing so violently, that the knife is knocked out of her arm, and nearly out of Amélie’s grip. Amélie takes a step back, knife raised in front of her, its greedy song begging her to give it more blood.

Maman’s low chuckle stills Hermione’s mother right in her tracks, and the Veela Alpha blinks rapidly, whipping her head around.

»Fret not, she shall not harm you,« Maman drawls, and Amélie doesn’t know whether she’s talking to her, or to Hermione’s mother.

“Eto!” Hermione’s mother snarls scathingly, and Amélie’s jaw drops at the unbridled rage in the nickname.

»Jean,« Maman says flatly, her eye narrowing tightly. Amélie keeps absolutely still as the Veela Alfā raises her hand, her fingers lighting up with her white Cursed Fire.

»The Trial dictates the Convicted must face the Betrayed,« Maman intones, twirling her fingers to slowly form tendrils of her Cursed Fire. Hermione’s mother’s eyes widen in horror, shock and . . . betrayal? Amélie isn’t quite sure what emotions she’s seeing, but Hermione’s mother must have felt her gaze, for she turns to face Amélie.

Both gasp, although for entirely different reasons.

“ _Hermione_.”

Amélie flinches, and shuts her eyes tight as the stupid hope that had bubbled in her chest is viciously slashed in to shards. She thought, for just a split second, that her birth mother saw _her_.

Maman snickers cruelly, and Amélie shamefully looks away from Hermione’s mother’s shocked stare. Guilty, she berates herself for wanting the Veela Alpha’s acknowledgement; Amélie already has Maman’s entire attention. She shouldn’t— _doesn’t_ —need anything else.

»The Betrayed,« Maman pauses, savoring how everyone hangs onto her words.

»Must produce forth the Judged, to bear witness of Blood—«

“—Hermione, what are you _doing_ here?—”

Amélie bites her lip, looking down, and draws her wings in close around herself. The knife in the hand, sings tauntingly at her weakness.

»—May this Blood be purified by the Trial—«

“—Hermione, run! Run!—”

Amélie scowls at the name, and the knife skims her dark thoughts, and eggs her to follow through them.

»—May this Trial be Blessed by Rozanica the Mother Goddess—«

“—Hermione, please! Listen to me! You can’t trust Eto!—”

»—Stop talking—« Amélie mutters under her breath.

»—May Her Aspects, Deva the Young Lady—«

“—Please! Go, Hermione! You shouldn’t have to see this!—”

»—Shut up—« Amélie huffs, flicking her eyes to meet Hermione’s mother’s desperate gaze.

»—Baba the Old Lady, Krasopani the Beautiful Lady—«

“—It’s not your fault, Hermione, none of this is your fault—”

»—I said: _shut up!_ —« Amélie snaps, brandishing the knife threateningly, and it laughs its song gleefully.

»—In the Name of the Goddess, the Betrayed shall take the Blood we are owed.«

Maman finishes her chant, and the unexpected scream from Hermione’s father gives Amélie a momentary fright. Clutching the knife close to her, her eyes snap to the detailed Cursed Fire cat-o-nine tails held in Maman’s fist, a malicious smirk gracing her lips.

“Are their bodies linked?” the Veela Alfā asks Xìntú, who bows, nodding swiftly.

Hermione’s mother lets out an enraged growl, jerking in her chains.

»I’m disappointed in you, Jean, you had such potential, you could have been my right wing woman,« Maman mocks, rearing her arm back and snapping her whip at Hermione’s father. He lets out another scream, and Hermione’s mother echos it.

»She was my cutthroat, informant, and most of all, she was the only one I trusted to raise you,« Maman says casually to Amélie, who fights back a flinch as the Veela Alfā’s next lash decimates Hermione’s father’s face.

“Ugh . . . D-don’t talk to her!” Hermione’s mother groans, glaring at Maman. Maman coldly snaps her whip again, vindictively.

»And she threw it all away when she blew up my entire company complex full of innocent workers,« Maman continues with a hard edge to her words now, making Hermione’s parents howl with pain.

»Bleed her, Amélie.«

Amélie steels herself at Maman’s low order, trying to ignore the pleading gaze of Hermione’s mother. Instead, she focuses on the knife, and it sings gallantly to her, telling her where to use it.

“A-Amélie?”

Amélie inhales sharply at _her_ name uttered from Hermione’s mother’s mouth. That disastrously, treacherous hope struggles to rise in her, and it’s dashed once more when Amélie sees no recognition in those eyes.

She raises the knife to Hermione’s mother’s chest, her hand shaking despite herself. All eyes upon on her as she presses the knife between two ribs, a cold sweat drenching her feathers as the blade easily splits skin and slides smoothly through muscle. It’s absurd how _easy_ it is: that’s the truly frightening thing.

Hermione’s mother whimpers and gasps in pain, twitching as Amélie slowly slides the knife in her to the hilt. She glances at Maman, who grins at her, pleased and proud. Amélie feels a thrill of happiness, knowing that she was the one Veela Alfā was proud of, not _Hermione_.

But the moment is ruined when Hermione’s mother starts singing.

Amélie snaps her gaze to tearful amber-blue, unable to tear herself away as the Veela Alpha sings a lullaby in Velian. A lullaby that she _never_ once sang to Hermione; it was all _Amélie’s_. She finds herself starting to hyperventilate the longer the singing continues, tears welling up in her eyes.

It doesn’t matter that Hermione’s mother’s voice is ragged with dehydration, exhaustion, and pain, Amélie’s birth mother finally sees her, her heart pumps harder—

»I love you, Hermione,« the Veela Alpha breathes desperately, and Amélie sees purple. Third time’s the charm, as they say, and Amélie breaks inside, cracking in to a hollow of despair. She roars in rage, and Xìntú starts laughing hysterically. Amélie’s Cursed Fire explodes around her in a volatile inferno, engulfing everything.

With a single mindedness born of pure hate and fury at being unseen and forgotten, Amélie covers Hermione’s mother’s mouth with her hands, incinerating her from the inside out.

* * *

Amélie can’t recall clearly what happened after murdering her birth mother, only that she became aware that Maman was carrying her in a mystical forest.

»You did so well, my daughter,« Maman croons, and Amélie curls into the only person who has ever showed her affection.

»It took me three long years to discover the culprit responsible for killing my—well, I suppose you could call her my ‘friend’—but rest assured you will never have to live with that traitor ever again. Xìntú is rearranging the scene as we speak, so I highly doubt anyone will be able to tell what truly happened that night.«

Maman is unusually talkative, although it might be because she’s so pleased with herself.

»Who?« Amélie asks, a deep seated exhaustion settling into her body.

»Hmmm . . . She’s someone everyone thinks dead from a violent magical outburst, one of the likes which I’ve never seen. When I saved her, she owed me, and so she agreed to help _you_ get stronger.«

Warm fingers rake through Amélie’s hair, a soothing action that tugs at the empty ache within her.

»How?« Amélie yawns, and Maman sighs good naturedly.

»By making it easier for Hermione to go to sleep. Now, it’s also time for you to rest. When you wake, you shall be my _Présage [Omen]._ «

Amélie obeys, her eyes fluttering sleepily, her fractured mind latching onto the sound of Maman’s voice telling her to sleep, sleep, sleep—

_—suddenly she’s drowning in a void of sick looking purple membranes almost like a haze, blinking in and out in random spots. Black smears spear through deep burgundy red splotches. Above it all, a man’s maniacal laughter echoes shrilly, and underlying the chaos, an eerily soothing melody haunts her. Hermione comes to to the swaying of her body as she flies, or is she falling?_

_She can’t be sure._

_Blinding colors flash everywhere, dancing across her already impaired vision. Strange city noises bombard her, shrill sounds, roaring sounds, and everything in between. Cold touches come and go, as she feels weightless. The sound of children’s laughter rings, making other noises dull. The familiar rocking of a swing brings Hermione somewhat back._

_But she fades._

— . —

_Avada Kedavra_ = Unforgivable Killing Curse 4x

_Crucio_ = Unforgivable Cruciatus Curse

_First most powerful magical oath tying the indebted’s life and magic to invoker, indebted can not harm invoker in any form until the debt is matched_ = Life-Debt


End file.
